SELECTIONS   FROM  THE  SYMBOLICAL   POEMS 
OF  WILLIAM   BLAKE 


SELECTIONS 

FROM  THE  SYMBOLICAL  POEMS 
OF  WILLIAM  BLAKE 


FREDERICK   E.    PIERCE,   PH.D. 

Assistant  Professor  of  English  in  Sheffield  Scientific  School,  Yale  University 


NEW  HAVEN  :  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON  :  HUMPHREY  MILFORD 

OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

MDCCCCXV 


COPYRIGHT,  1915 
BY  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


First  printed  June,  1915,  500  copies 


PREFACE 

Those  who  believe  that  Blake's  "Prophetic  Books,"  as  wholes,  are 
great  poems  may  consider  the  present  volume  as  a  simplified  reader  for 
beginners  in  Blake's  symbolism,  leading  by  graduated  steps  from  the  more 
obvious  to  the  more  complex  aspects  of  these  writings.  Those  who  find 
the  poetry  of  the  "Prophetic  Books"  confined  to  isolated  passages  may 
regard  this  edition  as  an  attempt  to  cull  out  such  passages  and  arrange  them 
in  something  roughly  approximating  an  organic  whole,  as  far  as  the  refrac- 
tory material  renders  this  last  step  possible. 

The  text  is  based  mainly  on  Mr.  Ellis's  1906  edition,  the  only  complete 
one  now  in  print;  but  where  the  same  passages  occur  in  the  selections  of 
Mr.  Sampson's  excellent  edition  his  readings  have  been  adopted,  although 
he  has  not  always  been  followed  in  typographical,  details.  Mr.  Ellis's  nu- 
merous editorial  emendations  in  Vala  have  been  discarded;  and  Blake's  own 
words,  as  given  in  Ellis's  appendix  of  the  Quaritch  edition,  have  been  sub- 
stituted. We  believe  with  Mr.  Ellis  that  some  of  his  emendations  are 
improvements;  but  we  felt  reluctant  to  place  a  version  so  full  of  editorial 
alterations  before  a  public  that  had  no  chance  of  comparing  these  with 
the  original  wording.  Our  text  is  not  offered  as  a  definitive  one,  but  simply 
as  adequate  for  an  introductory  work.  Mr.  Sampson's  text,  where  fol- 
lowed, has  been  used  by  the  kind  permission  of  Mr.  Sampson  himself, 
and  of  his  publishers,  the  Oxford  University  Press. 


313599 


INTRODUCTION 

The  inner  life  and  poetical  development  of  William  Blake  is  the 
story — perhaps  the  tragedy,  though  he  himself  would  not  have  called  it 
so — of  an  isolated  mind.  This  was  partly  due  to  circumstances.  His 
early  educational  advantages  were  poor;  his  friends  were  often  incom- 
petent advisers ;  he  found  no  literary  coterie,  like  that  which  nourished  the 
genius  of  young  Keats,  opening  its  doors  for  him.  The  only  contemporary 
man  of  letters  with  whom  he  came  closely  in  touch  was  William  Hayley, 
perhaps  the  most  incompetent  critic  and  overrated  poetaster  of  his  time. 
Blake's  life  (1757-1827)  was  exactly  contemporary  with  the  famous 
"romantic  movement"  in  English  literature,  and  much  of  his  verse  is 
highly  romantic;  yet  he  was  about  sixty  years  old  before  his  great  con- 
temporaries Wordsworth  and  Coleridge  knew  of  his  writings  or  exist- 
ence. But  a  deeper  reason  for  the  poet's  mental  isolation  probably  existed 
in  the  man  himself.  He  was  born  with  an  inherent  Inability  ffl  |pam. 
by  experience  .how  the  universe  seemed  to  other  men.  He  says  in  his 
Everlasting  Gospel: 

"But  thou  read'st  black  where  I  read  white"; 

and  this  statement  was  true  in  an  unfortunate  sense  that  the  poet  little 
realized.  Developing  apart  from  those  disciplinary  forces  which  keep 
growing  minds  reasonably  intelligible  to  each  other,  he  built  up  a  universe 
of  his  own  which  had  no  proper  points  of  contact  with  the  kosmos  of  any 
one  else,  and  talked  about  it  in  a  strange  language  of  his  own,  which  others 
rarely  understood. 

Out  of  such  an  unfortunate  attitude  toward  life  grew  the  so-called 
"prophetic  books"  of  Blake,  written  during  the  best  years  of  his  manhood, 
and  later,  for  the  most  part,  than  the  more  fortunate  lyrics  that  have  made 
his  poetical  reputation. 

They  were  inspired  largely  by  the  mystical  philosophical  systems  of 
Swedenborg  and  Jacob  Boehme,  and  were  believed  by  the  poet  to  be  the 
dictation  of  heavenly  voices,  for  which  he  acted  as  a  mere  amanuensis. 

vii 


Some  of  them  were  published  during  Blake's  life — if  his  method  of  printing 
them  from  his  own  engraved  plates  could  be  called  publication; — others 
were  left  in  manuscript;  and  a  large  part  of  the  manuscript  was  destroyed 
by  Tatham,  his  executor,  after  the  author's  death.  As  they  exist  to-day, 
they  consist  of  several  short  books,  The  Book  of  Urizen,  The  Book  of 
Ahania,  etc.,  none  of  which  exceeds  five  hundred  lines;  and  the  three  long 
symbolic  epics,  Vala,  Milton,  and  Jerusalem,  composed  later  than  the 
shorter  ones.  All  of  these  books  develop  different  phases  of  one  allegory, 
or  rather  myth,  in  which  the  various  forces  within  the  human  being  are 
personified  and  shown  in  their  struggles  with  each  other. 

Blake,  like  Berkeley,  believed  that  mind  is  everything  and  matter  non- 
existent; hence  for  him  the  brain  of  man  was  an  arena  at  once  small  as  a 
lantern  and  great  as  the  universe,  and  in  the  brain  of  man  the  events  of 
his  poems  occur.  In  that  arena,  where  a  less  stormy  genius  had  before 
located  Pilgrim's  Progress,  move  Titan  Miltonic  figures,  reducing  worlds 
to  chaos  or  chaos  to  worlds.  They  are  our  passions,  reasonings,  impulses, 
godlike,  demonlike,  groping,  erring,  aspiring,  dreaming  and  suffering. 
Chief  among  them  tower  the  four  Zoas  or  mental  kings,  spirits  of  intellect, 
emotion,  sensuousness,  and  energy,  and  the  beautiful,  godlike  figure  of 
imaginative  insight.  Around  them  move  such  a  confusing  swarm  of  lesser 
figures  as  could  be  paralleled  only  from  Brahmin  cosmogony. 

A  careful  analysis  of  these  works  shows  that  their  central  thought 
is  by  no  means  such  a  mass  of  morbid  ravings  as  it  has  at  times  been  con- 
sidered. Blake  emphasizes  chiefly  two  ideas,  both  essentially  reasonable 
and  poetical.  The_  first  is  that  man  attains  his  highest  development, 
becomes  the  ideal  man,  only  when  the  different  forces  within  him  are  in  a 
state  of  harmony  and  balance.  The  tyranny  of  any  one  of  them — intellect, 
emotion,  sensuousness,  or  energy — over  the  others  produces  a  distorted 
soul  that  is  at  once  unphilosophical,  unpoetical,  and  unchristian.  When 
one  of  these  forces  is  displaced  in  its  natural  field  of  action  by  another, 
then  men  love  coldly  through  their  heads  or  judge  blindly  through  their 
hearts,  so  that  we  have  fanatical  psychologists  experimenting  on  their 
own  children  and  sentimental  juries  endangering  society  by  their  rash 
acquittals.  Our  own  age  is  the  best  proof  of  Blake's  sanity  here.  His 
second  main  thesis  is  that  imagination  is  absolutely  necessary  as  the  saving 
element  in  man.  In  Jerusalem  imagination  is  identified  with  the  Saviour 
Himself.  For  justification  of  the  poet  we  need  only  turn  to  a  passage  in 
Mr.  Galsworthy's  recent  play,  Strife: 

viii 


Edgar  (scornfully).  There's  nothing  wrong  with  our  humanity. 
It's  our  imaginations,  Mr.  Scantlebury. 

Wilder.     Nonsense !  my  imagination's  as  good  as  yours. 
Edgar.    If  so,  it  isn't  good  enough. 

As  for  Blake's  other  teachings,  his  defiance  of  law,  his  advocacy  of  free 
love,  these  theories  are  no  less  fallacious  but  no  less  sane  in  his  writings  than 
in  those  of  Byron  and  Shelley  and  the  German  Romantic  School. 

But  if  Blake's  central  ideas  can  be  defended,  his  manner  of  developing 
them  cannot.  If  the  pages  of  half  a  dozen  short  stories  were  cut  into  small 
sections,  these  sections  mixed  in  a  box  and  pasted  in  a  book  according  to 
any  random  sequence,  we  should  have  a  narrative  much  like  those  of  the 
longer  prophetic  books — at  least  as  they  strike  the  casual  peruser — without 
order  or  transitions,  without  beginning,  middle  or  plan.  Moreover,  the 
main  allegorical  characters  become  surrounded  by  some  three  hundred 
minor  ones,  strange  in  name,  uncertain  in  significance,  till  the  head  of  the 
reader  whirls. 

A  tabulated  list  of  these  weird  dramatis  persona  shows  that  the  use  of 
symbolic  names  grew  on  Blake  like  a  disease.  It  also  suggests  what  a  fuller 
reading  confirms,  that  nine  tenths  of  these  uncouth  cognomens — appearing 
only  a  few  times,  often  only  once  or  twice — have  little  or  no  connection 
with  the  main  thread  of  the  poems.  They  are  sheer  dead  weight,  con- 
fusing and  disgusting  readers  who  might  otherwise  find  much  to  admire. 
What  they  need  is  not  explanation  but  excision. 

The  "prophetic"  books  contain  some  profound  thought;  but  it  is  so 
mixed  with  fallacies  and  absurdities,  so  clouded  by  incoherent  arrange- 
ment and  wilfully  mystifying  language,  that  we  do  not  believe  the  world 
will  ever  take  Blake  seriously  as  a  philosopher.  There  remains  another 
question.  How  far  in  these  allegorical  writings  was  he  a  poet?  On  this  6^ 
head  there  have  been  the  widest  differences  of  opinion.  Messrs.  Ellis 
and  Yeats  have  considered  Vala  the  masterpiece  of  a  master  genius.  At 
the  other  extreme,  Mr.  J.  Comyns  Carr  wrote  in  Ward's  English  Poets: 
"The  defects  of  such  work  are  too  grave  for  any  kind  of  serious  vindi-  " 
cation  to  be  really  possible" ;  and  his  attitude  remains  practically  unchanged 
in  the  new  Encyclopedia  Britannica.  A  position  which  seems  to  us  more 
just  than  either  is  that  taken  recently  by  Prof.  Oliver  Elton:  "This  poem 
[Jerusalem]  can  only  disgust  save  in  selections,  but  without  such  selections 
the  genius  of  the  writer  will  not  be  understood.  It  contains  long  passages 
of  rare  and  achieved  beauty.  ...  In  single  passages  Blake  is  the  peer  of 

ix 


Shelley;  but  no  great  poet  has  ever  managed,  by  the  conduct  of  his  story, 
so  completely  to  revolt  the  artistic  judgment." 

In  the  present  volume  the  editor  has  tried  to  cull  out  the  best  sections 
from  this  frightfully  uneven  mass  of  verse  and  arrange  them  in  something 
as  nearly  as  possible  like  narrative  sequence.  No  doubt  he  has  made 
errors  of  judgment;  but,  as  a  whole,  the  book  represents  what  is  most 
poetical  and  least  unintelligible  in  the  originals.  Even  in  such  a  doctored 
form  as  the  present,  the  poems  are  hard  reading.  There  is  a  lack  of 
organic  structure  in  the  verse  paragraphs,  at  times  in  the  sentences; 
and  idea  slips  cog  with  idea.  To  enjoy  the  poetry  we  must  not  ask 
ourselves  too  closely  for  the  precise  sequence  of  thought.  We  must 
remember  that  Blake  was  an  artist  and  engraver  as  well  as  a  poet;  that 
he  is  painting  here  in  language  just  such  mystic  scenes  as  he  graved  and 
drew.  We  must  let  his  word  pictures  glide  past  our  imagination  like  the 
illustrations  that  he  himself  designed  for  these  very  poems,  vivid  in  detail, 
hazy  in  synthesis,  dimly  suggesting  unrealized  concepts  and  undefinable 
moods.  Such  poetry  may  not  be  the  greatest;  its  very  nature  may  imply 
an  excess  of  aspiration  over  achieving  power;  but  it  is  too  truly  poetical 
to  be  left  where  it  has  lain  so  long,  on  the  scrap-heap  of  literary  failure. 

Aside  from  purely  poetical  value,  the  prophetic  books  have  an  inter- 
est for  the  literary  historian  which  justifies  their  study.  They  are  the 
most  marked  outcropping  in  English  romanticism  of  the  cult  of  Jacob 
Boehme,  which  exercised  so  strong  an  influence  on  the  German  Romantiker 
and  found  noblest  expression  in  Novalis's  Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen.  Also 
the  author's  Swedenborgian  tendencies  are  interesting  in  comparison  with 
a  work  like  Balzac's  Seraphita.  Blake's  very  faults  have  a  certain  histori- 
cal significance,  they  are  so  distinctly  romantic  faults,  an  orgy  of  lawless- 
ness, in  which  the  poet  follows  his  own  whims  not  only  in  methods  of 
composition  but  even  in  the  meaning  and  associations  of  words.  At  his 
worst,  Blake  is  the  reductio  ad  absurdum  of  romantic  theory,  just  as  at  his 
best  he  is  the  rich  blossom  of  romantic  practice. 


This  should  have  been  a  noble  creature :  he 

Hath  all  the  energy  which  would  have  made 

A  goodly  frame  of  glorious  elements, 

Had  they  been  wisely  mingled;  as  it  is, 

It  is  an  awful  chaos — light  and  darkness, 

And  mind  and  dust,  and  passions  and  pure  thoughts, 

Mix'd  and  contending  without  end  or  order, 

All  dormant  or  destructive.    He  will  perish, 

And  yet  he  must  not;  I  will  try  once  more, 

For  such  are  worth  redemption. 

Byron's  Manfred. 


LOCATION  OF  SELECTIONS 

E  refers  to  Ellis's  1906  edition;  S  to  Sampson's  1913  edition.  Page 
numbers  in  parentheses  represent  Blake's  pagination  as  given  by  Ellis. 
(Om.)  indicates  that  certain  lines  in  the  passage  are  omitted.  Roman 
numbers  in  capitals  refer  to  the  volume,  those  in  small  type  to  the  Night  of 
fala1  in  Ellis. 

I.  i.  Vala.    E  II,  i,  1-3;  S  349. 

I.  2.  Jerusalem.     E  II,  (4)  and  (5),   (Om.)  ;  S  386  (11.  1-6 

only) . 

II.  i.  Daughters  of  Albion.     El,  (3)  and  (4)  ;  S  288. 

II.  2.  Daughters  of  Albion.    El,  (7)  and  (8)  ;  S  292. 

II.  3.  America.     E  I,   (6)  ;  S  295-296. 

II.  4.  Milton.    El,  (18). 

II.  5-  Milton.    El,  (31)58379-380,  (Om.). 

II.  6.  Vala.    E  II,  i,  348-355;  s  35°- 

II.  7.  Jerusalem.    E  II,  (49). 

III.  i.  Heaven  and  Hell.    E  I,  (12)  and  (13)  ;  S  253-254. 

III.  2.  Heaven  and  Hell.     E  I,   (17),   (18)   and  (19);  S  256- 

257. 

IV.  Milton.     E  I,   (39)  and  (40),   (Om.). 
V.      i.     Vala.     E  II,  i,  29-81,  (Om.). 

V.     2.     Vala.     E  II,  i,  173-186;  S  350  (11.  1-9  only). 
V.     3.     Vala.     E  II,  i,  386-403. 

V.     4.     Vala.     E  II,  ii,  386-418;  S  352-354  (omits  first  line). 
V.     5.     Vala.     E  II,  viii,  526-576,  (Om.). 
VI.     i.     Vala.     E  II,  vii,  757-773;  S  357-358,  (Om.). 
VI.     2.     Vala.     E  II,  ix,  384-552;  S  364-365  (11.  3-69  only),  366- 

367  (11.  86-100  only). 

VI.     3.     Vala.     E  II,  ix,  679-732,  (Om.). 
VI.     4.     Jerusalem.    E  II,  (65). 

VII.      i.     Bk.  of  Urizen,  opening  lines.    E  I,  (3)  ;  S  314-315. 
VII.     2.     Vala.    E  II,  i,  328-335. 

VII.     3.     Bk.  of  Ahania,  end.     E  I,  396-398;  S  346-348,  (Om.). 
VII.     4.     Vala.     E  II,  iii,  1-40,  (Om.). 

VII.  5.  Vala.  E  II,  v,  189-240;  vi,  1-40;  72-322;  vii,  1-112, 
(Om.)  ;  S  354-356  (Urizen's  song  in  dens  of  Urthona 
only) . 

1  Perhaps  more  properly  entitled  The  Four  Zoas.     I  have  retained  Vala  as  the  title  used 
in  the  only  complete  edition  of  it. 

xiii 


VII.     6.  Vala.    E  II,  ii,  117-205;  240-262;  Jerusalem,  E  II,  (66). 

VII.     7.  Vala.     E  II,  ix,  260-351;  576-666,   (Om.)  ;  S  363-364 

(11.  8-24  only). 

VIII.     i.  Bk.  of  Los,  Chap.  ii.    E  I,  407;  S  337. 

VIII.     2.  Vala.     E  II,  i,  218-244,  (Om.). 

VIII.     3.  Vala.     E  II,  i,  359-368. 

VIII.     4-  Vala.     E  II,  ii,  295-382,  (Om.) ;  S  351-35*  (U-  35-69 

only) . 

VIII.     5.  Vala.     E  II,  vii,  184-209. 

VIII.     6.  Vala.     E  II,  v,  1-41,  (Om.). 

VIII.     7.  Vala.     E  II,  v,  114-172,  (Om.). 

VIII.     8.  Milton.     E  I,  (23) ;  S  375  (11.  1-13),  (Om.). 

VIII.     9.  Jerusalem.     E  II,   (10). 

VIII.   10.  Milton.     E  I,    (25)^28),    (Om.)  ;  S  378-379   (11.  18- 

end  only) . 

VIII.   ii.  Jerusalem.    E  II,  (59). 

VIII.   12.  Jerusalem.    E  II,  (53),  (i2)-(i3),  (Om.). 

VIII.   13.  Milton.     El,  (22). 

VIII.   14.  Milton.     El,  (35)-(36),  (Om.). 

VIII.   15.  Milton.     El,  (19).  ' 

VIII.   16.  Milton.     E  I,  (20)  ;  S  374  (11.  15-22  only). 

IX.      i.  Jerusalem.     E  II,  (30). 

IX.     2.  Jerusalem.     E  II,  (9),  (Om.). 

IX.     3.  Jerusalem.     E  II,  ($7)-(3*)  ;  S  394  (11.  17-29  only). 

IX.     4.  (a)  Vala.     E  II,  viii,  500-524.     (b)  Jerusalem.     E  II, 

(19)- 
IX.     5.     Jerusalem.     E  II,  (24). 

IX.     6.     Jerusalem.     E  II  and  (33)-(34). 

IX.     7.     Milton.     E  I,  (3o)-(3i),  (Om.). 

IX.     8.     Vala.     E  II,  i,  203-209. 

IX.     9.     Jerusalem.     E  II,  (25),  (Om.). 

IX.   10.     Jerusalem.     E  II,  (56^(57),  (Om.). 

IX.   ii.     Jerusalem.     E  II,  (60),  (Om.). 

IX.   12.     Jerusalem.     E     II,     (6o)-(62),     (Om.) ;    S    399-401 

(11.  21-72  only). 

IX.   13.     Jerusalem.     E  II,  (66),  (Om.). 
IX.   14.     Jerusalem.     E  II,  (78)^79),  (Om.). 
IX.   15.     Jerusalem.     E     II,     (83)-(86),     (Om.)  ;     S    406-407 

(11.  34-65  only). 

IX.   1 6.     Vala.    E  II,  ix,  822-844. 
IX.   17.     Milton.    El,  (44)-(45),  (Om.). 
IX.    18.     Jerusalem.    E  II,  (94)-(99)  ;  S  409-410  (11.  1-18,  28-40, 

and  last  five  lines  only). 


xiv 


SELECTIONS   FROM  THE  SYMBOLICAL   POEMS 
OF  WILLIAM   BLAKE 


I 

BLAKE'S  OWN  ATTITUDE  TOWARD  HIS  SYMBOLIC  POEMS 

i 
'[The  opening  lines  of  Vala.] 

The  song  of  the  Aged  Mother,  which  shook  the  heavens  with  wrath, 
Hearing  the  march  of  long-resounding,  strong,  heroic  verse, 
Marshall'd  in  order  for  the  day  of  Intellectual  Battle. 


[From   the  opening  lines  of  Jerusalem.      The  "sleeper  of  the  land  of 
shadows"  whom  the  Saviour  addresses  here  is  the  English  nation.] 

This  theme  calls  me  in  sleep  night  after  night,  and  ev'ry  morn 

Awakes  me  at  sunrise ;  then  I  see  the  Saviour  over  me, 

Spreading  His  beams  of  love,  and  dictating  the  words  of  this  mild  song: 

"Awake !  awake !  O  sleeper  of  the  land  of  shadows,  wake !  expand !  <--' 

I  am  in  you,  and  you  in  me,  mutual  in  love  divine;^ 

Fibres  of  love  from  man  to  man  thro'  Albion's  pleasant  land. 

Thy  brethren  call  thee,  and  thy  fathers  and  thy  sons, 

Thy  nurses  and  thy  mothers,  thy  sisters  and  thy  daughters 

Weep  at  thy  soul's  disease,  and  the  Divine  Vision  is  darken'd." 

Trembling  I  sit  day  and  night;  my  friends  are  astonish'd  at  me, 

Yet  they  forgive  my  wanderings,  I  rest  not  from  my  great  task: 

To  open  the  Eternal  Worlds,  to  open  the  immortal  Eyes 

Of  Man  inwards  into  the  Worlds  of  Thought,  into  Eternity; 

Ever  expanding  in  the  Bosom  of  God  the  Human  Imagination. 

O  Saviour,  pour  upon  me  thy  Spirit  of  meekness  and  love, 

Annihilate  the  Selfhood  in  me,  be  thou  all  my  life, 

Guide  thou  my  hand  which  trembles  exceedingly  upon  the  rock  of  ages. 

II 
UNSYMBOLIC  POETRY  IN  THE  SYMBOLIC  POEMS 

i 

[A  Song  of  Thought.] 

Tell  me  what  is  the  night  or  day  to  one  o'erflow'd  with  woe? 
Tell  me  what  is  a  thought?  and  of  what  substance  is  it  made? 
Tell  me  what  is  a  joy?  and  in  what  gardens  do  joys  grow? 


And  in  what  rivers  swim  the  sorrows?  and  upon  what  mountains 

Wave  shadows  of  discontent?  and  in  what  houses  dwell  the  wretched, 

Drunken  with  woe,  forgotten,  and  shut  up  from  cold  despair? 

Tell  me  where  dwell  the  thoughts,  forgotten  till  thou  call  them  forth? 

Tell  me  where  dwell  the  joys  of  old,  and  where  the  ancient  loves? 

And  when  will  they  renew  again,  and  the  night  of  oblivion  past, 

That  I  might  traverse  times  and  spaces  far  remote,  and  bring 

Comforts  into  a  present  sorrow  and  a  night  of  pain? 

Where  goest  thou,  O  thought?  to  what  remote  land  is  thy  flight? 

If  thou  returnest  to  the  present  moment  of  affliction, 

Wilt  thou  bring  comforts  on  thy  wings,  and  dews  and  honey  and  balm, 

Or  poison  from  the  desert  wilds,  from  the  eyes  of  the  envier? 


[  The  Holiness  of  Joy.] 

Does  the  sun  walk  in  glorious  raiment,  on  the  secret  floor, 

Where  the  cold  miser  spreads  his  gold?  or  does  the  bright  cloud  drop 

On  his  stone  threshold?  does  his  eye  behold  the  beam  that  brings 

Expansion  to  the  eye  of  pity?  or  will  he  bind  himself 

Beside  the  ox  to  thy  hard  furrow?  does  not  that  mild  beam  blot 

The  bat,  the  owl,  the  glowing  tiger,  and  the  king  of  night? 

The  sea-fowl  takes  the  wintry  blast  for  a  cov'ring  to  her  limbs, 

And  the  wild  snake  the  pestilence  to  adorn  him  with  gems  and  gold; 

And  trees  and  birds,  and  beasts  and  men,  behold  their  eternal  joy. 

Arise,  you  little  glancing  wings,  and  sing  your  infant  joy! 

Arise,  and  drink  your  bliss,  for  every  thing  that  lives  is  holy!  V 

3 

\_A  Song  of  Freedom.]  y 

\This  song  expresses  Blake's  sympathy  with  the  triumph  of  the  American 

Revolution.] 

The  morning  comes,  the  night  decays,  the  watchmen  leave  their  stations; 

The  grave  is  burst,  the  spices  shed,  the  linen  wrapped  up; 

The  bones  of  death,  the  cov'ring  clay,  the  sinews  shrunk  and  dry'd, 

Reviving  shake,  inspiring  move,  breathing,  awakening, 

Spring  like  redeemed  captives,  when  their  bonds  and  bars  are  burst. 

Let  the  slave  grinding  at  the  mill  run  out  into  the  field, 

Let  him  look  up  into  the  heavens  and  laugh  in  the  bright  air; 

Let  the  enchained  soul  shut  up  in  darkness  and  in  sighing, 

Whose  face  has  never  seen  a  smile  in  thirty  weary  years, 

Rise  and  look  out;  his  chains  are  loose,  his  dungeon  doors  are  open, 


And  let  his  wife  and  children  return  from  the  oppressor's  scourge. 

They  look  behind  at  every  step  and  believe  it  is  a  dream, 

Singing:   "The  Sun  has  left  his  blackness,   and  has   found  a   fresher 

morning, 

And  the  fair  Moon  rejoices  in  the  clear  and  cloudless  night; 
For  Empire  is  no  more,  and  now  the  Lion  and  Wolf  shall  cease." 


4 
[The  Fly  and  the  Man.] 

[These  lines  develop  one  of  Blake's  favorite  ideas,  that  "the  kingdom  of 

Heaven  is  within  you."     They  should  be  compared  with  The  Fly 

in  The  Songs  of  Experience.] 

See'st  thou  the  little  winged  fly,  smaller  than  a  grain  of  sand? 
It  has  a  heart  like  thee,  a  brain  open  to  heaven  and  hell, 
With  inside  wondrous  and  expansive,  its  gates  are  not  clos'd. 
I  hope  thine  are  not.    Hence  it  clothes  itself  in  rich  array. 
Hence  thou  art  cloth'd  with  human  beauty,  O  thou  mortal  man. 
Seek  not  thy  heavenly  father  then  beyond  the  skies; 
There  Chaos  dwells  and  ancient  Night  and  Og  and  Anak  old. 

5 
[The  Lamentation  of  the  Daughters  of  Dreamland.] 

Thou  hearest  the  Nightingale  begin  the  Song  of  Spring; 

The  Lark  sitting  upon  his  earthy  bed,  just  as  the  morn 

Appears,  listens  silent;  then  springing  from  the  waving  Corn-field,  loud 

He  leads  the  Choir  of  Day — trill,  trill,  trill,  trill, 

Mounting  upon  the  wings  of  light  into  the  Great  Expanse. 

Re-echoing  against  the  lovely  blue  and  shining  heavenly  Shell, 

His  little  throat  labours  with  inspiration;  every  feather 

On  throat  and  breast  and  wings  vibrates  with  the  effluence  Divine. 

All  Nature  listens  silent  to  him,  and  the  awful  Sun 

Stands  still  upon  the  Mountain  looking  on  this  little  Bird 

With  eyes  of  soft  humility  and  wonder,  love,  and  awe. 

Then  loud  from  their  green  covert  all  the  Birds  begin  their  Song; 

The  Thrush,  the  Linnet,  and  the  Goldfinch,  Robin,  and  the  Wren 

Awake  the  Sun  from  his  sweet  reverie  upon  the  Mountain. 

The  Nightingale  again  assays  his  song,  and  thro'  the  day 

And  thro'  the  night  warbles  luxuriant,  every  Bird  of  Song 

Attending  his  loud  harmony  with  admiration  and  love. 

This  is  a  Vision  of  the  lamentation  of  Beulah  over  Ololon. 


Thou  perceivest  the  Flowers  put  forth  their  precious  Odours, 
And  none  can  tell  how  from  so  small  a  center  comes  such  sweet, 
Forgetting  that  within  that  Center  Eternity  expands.   .    .    . 
First,  ere  the  morning  breaks,  joy  opens  in  the  flowery  bosoms, 
Joy  even  to  tears,  which  the  Sun  rising  dries;  first  the  Wild  Thyme 
And  Meadow-sweet,  downy  and  soft,  waving  among  the  reeds, 
Light  springing  on  the  air,  lead  the  sweet  Dance;  they  wake 
The  Honeysuckle  sleeping  on  the  Oak,  the  flaunting  beauty 
Revels  along  upon  the  wind;  the  White-thorn,  lovely  May, 
Opens  her  many  lovely  eyes;  listening,  the  Rose  still  sleeps. 
None  dare  to  wake  her;  soon  she  bursts  her  crimson-curtained  bed 
And  comes  forth  in  the  majesty  of  beauty.     Every  Flower, 
The  Pink,  the  Jessamine,  the  Wallflower,  the  Carnation, 
The  Jonquil,  the  mild  Lilly  opes  her  heavens;  every  Tree 
And  Flower  and  Herb  soon  fill  the  air  with  an  innumerable  Dance, 
Yet  all  in  order  sweet  and  lovely.     Men  are  sick  with  love. 
Such  is  a  Vision  of  the  lamentation  of  Beulah  over  Ololon. 

6 

\_Natura  sub  Specie  ALternitatis.] 

Eternity  appeared  above  them  as  One  Man  enfolded 

In  Luvah's1  robes  of  blood,  and  bearing  all  his  afflictions; 

As  the  sun  shines  down  on  the  misty  earth,  such  was  the  Vision. 

But  purple  night,  and  crimson  morning,  and  golden  day  descending 

Through  the  clear  changing  atmosphere  displayed  green  fields  among 

The  varying  clouds  like  paradises  stretched  in  the  expanse, 

With  towns  and  villages  and  temples,  tents,  sheepfolds  and  pastures, 

Where  dwell  the  children  of  the  elemental  worlds  in  harmony. 

7 

[The  Tragedy  of  the  Unimaginative  Man.~\ 

Ah!  weak  and  wide  astray!    Ah,  shut  in  narrow,  doleful  form  I 

Creeping  in  reptile  flesh  upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground; 

The  Eye  of  Man,  a  little  narrow  orb,  closed  up  and  dark, 

Scarcely  beholding  the  Great  Light,  conversing  with  the  ground; 

The  Ear,  a  little  shell,  in  small  volutions  shutting  out 

True  Harmonies,  and  comprehending  great  as  very  small; 

The  Nostrils  bent  down  to  the  earth  and  clos'd  with  senseless  flesh, 

That  odours  cannot  them  expand,  nor  joy  on  them  exult; 

The  Tongue,  a  little  moisture  fills,  a  little  food  it  cloys, 

A  little  sound  it  utters,  and  its  cries  are  faintly  heard. 

1  The  spirit  of  love  and  of  the  heart's  blood. 

4 


Ill 

FROM  "THE  MARRIAGE  OF  HEAVEN  AND  HELL" 

i 
\Elake  and  the  Prophets.] 

\_Blake  entitled  this  -passage,  "A  memorable  fancy."  It  illustrates  his 
admiration  for  the  old  Hebrew  literature,  his  attitude  toward  his  own 
"revelations"  (being  the  same  as  that  of  Ezekiel} ,  and  also  his  funda- 
mental conception  that  the  poetic  genius  underlay  all  true  religion  and 
morality.] 

The  prophets  Isaiah  and  Ezekiel  dined  with  me,  and  I  asked  them 
how  they  dared  so  roundly  to  assert  that  God  spoke  to  them;  and  whether 
they  did  not  think  at  the  time  that  they  would  be  misunderstood,  and  so  be 
the  cause  of  imposition. 

Isaiah  answered:  "I  saw  no  God,  nor  heard  any,  in  a  finite  organical 
perception;  but  my  senses  discovered  the  infinite  in  everything,  and  as  I 
was  then  persuaded,  and  remain  confirmed,  that  the  voice  of  honest  indig- 
nation is  the  voice  of  God,  I  cared  not  for  consequences  but  wrote." 

Then  I  asked:  "Does  a  firm  persuasion  that  a  thing  is  so,  make  it  so?" 

He  replied:  "All  poets  believe  that  it  does,  and  in  ages  of  imagination 
this  firm  persuasion  removed  mountains;  but  many  are  not  capable  of  a 
firm  persuasion  of  anything." 

Then  Ezekiel  said:  "The  philosophy  of  the  east  taught  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  human  perception.  Some  nations  held  one  principle  for  the  origin, 
and  some  another;  we  of  Israel  taught  that  the  Poetic  Genius  (as  you  now 
call  it)  was  the  first  principle  and  all  the  others  merely  derivative,  which 
was  the  cause  of  our  despising  the  Priests  and  Philosophers  of  other  coun- 
tries, and  prophesying  that  all  Gods  would  at  last  be  proved  to  originate 
in  ours  and  to  be  the  tributaries  of  the  Poetic  Genius.  It  was  this  that  our 
great  poet,  King  David,  desired  so  fervently  and  invokes  so  pathetically, 
saying  by  this  he  conquers  enemies  and  governs  kingdoms ;  and  we  so  loved 
our  God,  that  we  cursed  in  his  name  all  the  deities  of  surrounding  nations, 
and  asserted  that  they  had  rebelled.  From  these  opinions  the  vulgar  came 
to  think  that  all  nations  would  at  last  be  subject  to  the  Jews. 

"This,"  said  he,  "like  all  firm  persuasions,  is  come  to  pass,  for  all 
nations  believe  the  Jews'  code  and  worship  the  Jews'  god,  and  what 
greater  subjection  can  be?" 

I  heard  this  with  some  wonder,  and  must  confess  my  own  conviction. 


[Blake  and  the  Angel.~\ 

[The  angel  here  represents,  not  a  denizen  of  the  highest  heaven,  but 
a  well-meaning  being,  governed  by  those  conventional  ideas  of  religion  and 
morality  which  Blake  considered  especially  pernicious.  To  such  a  conven- 
tional mind  many  things  appear  evil  and  monstrous  which  to  a  clear,  unpre- 
judiced eye  are  beautiful  and  innocent.  What  the  angel  views  as  an  abyss 
and  a  monster  is  seen  by  Blake,  when  unprejudiced  and  alone,  to  be  a 
moonlit  night  and  a  charming  musician.] 

An  Angel  came  to  me  and  said:  "O  pitiable,  foolish  young  man!  O 
horrible !  O  dreadful  state !  Consider  the  hot,  burning  dungeon  thou  art 
preparing  for  thyself  to  all  eternity,  to  which  thou  art  going  in  such  career." 

I  said:  "Perhaps  you  will  be  willing  to  show  me  my  eternal  lot,  and 
we  will  contemplate  together  upon  it,  and  see  whether  your  lot  or  mine  is 
most  desirable?" 

So  he  took  me  thro'  a  stable  and  thro'  a  church  and  down  into  the 
church  vault,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  mill.  Thro'  the  mill  we  went,  and 
came  to  a  cave.  Down  the  winding  cavern  we  groped  our  tedious  way, 
till  a  void  boundless  as  a  nether  sky  appeared  beneath  us,  and  we  held  by 
the  roots  of  trees,  and  hung  over  this  immensity.  But  I  said:  "If  you 
please,  we  will  commit  ourselves  to  this  void,  and  see  whether  Providence 
is  here  also.  If  you  will  not,  I  will."  But  he  answered,  "Do  not  presume, 
O  young  man,  but  as  we  here  remain,  behold  thy  lot  which  will  soon  appear 
when  the  darkness  passes  away." 

So  I  remained  with  him,  sitting  in  the  twisted  root  of  an  oak.  He 
was  suspended  in  a  fungus,  which  hung  with  the  head  downward  into  the 
deep. 

By  degrees  we  beheld  the  infinite  Abyss,  fiery  as  the  smoke  of  a  burn- 
ing city.  Beneath  us,  at  an  immense  distance,  was  the  sun,  black  but  shin- 
ing; round  it  were  fiery  tracks  on  which  revolved  vast  spiders,  crawling 
after  their  prey,  which  flew,  or  rather  swum,  in  the  infinite  deep,  in  the 
most  terrific  shapes  of  animals  sprung  from  corruption;  and  the  air  was 
full  of  them,  and  seemed  composed  of  them — these  are  Devils,  and  are 
called  Powers  of  the  Air.  I  now  asked  my  companion  which  was  my 
eternal  lot?  He  said,  "Between  the  black  and  white  spiders." 

But  now,  from  between  the  black  and  white  spiders,  a  cloud  and  fire 
burst  and  rolled  thro'  the  deep,  blackening  all  beneath,  so  that  the  nether 
deep  grew  black  as  a  sea,  and  rolled  with  a  terrible  noise.  Beneath  us 
was  nothing  now  to  be  seen  but  a  black  tempest,  till  looking  east  between 
the  clouds  and  the  waves  we  saw  a  cataract  of  blood  mixed  with  fire,  and 
not  many  stones'  throw  from  us  appeared  and  sunk  again  the  scaly  fold  of 
a  monstrous  serpent.  At  last,  to  the  east,  distant  about  three  degrees, 
appeared  a  fiery  crest  above  the  waves.  Slowly  it  reared  like  a  ridge  of 


golden  rocks,  till  we  discovered  two  globes  of  crimson  fire,  from  which  the 
sea  fled  away  in  clouds  of  smoke;  and  now  we  saw  it  was  the  head  of 
Leviathan.  His  forehead  was  divided  into  streaks  of  green  and  purple 
like  those  on  a  tiger's  forehead.  Soon  we  saw  his  mouth  and  red  gills  hang 
just  above  the  raging  foam,  tinging  the  black  deep  with  beams  of  blood, 
advancing  toward  us  with  all  the  fury  of  a  spiritual  existence. 

My  friend  the  Angel  climbed  up  from  his  station  into  the  mill;  I 
remained  alone,  and  then  this  appearance  was  no  more;  but  I  found  myself 
sitting  on  a  pleasant  bank  beside  a  river,  by  moonlight,  hearing  a  harper, 
who  sung  to  the  harp;  and  his  theme  was,  "The  man  who  never  alters  his 
opinion  is  like  standing  water,  and  breeds  reptiles  of  the  mind." 

But  I  arose  and  sought  for  the  mill,  and  there  I  found  my  Angel,  who, 
surprised,  asked  me  how  I  escaped. 

I  answered:  "All  that  we  saw  was  owing  to  your  metaphysics;  for 
when  you  ran  away,  I  found  myself  on  a  bank  by  moonlight  hearing  a 
harper." 


IV 
A  VISION  OF  SATAN 

At  Felpham,  a  seashore  town  where  Blake  wrote  much  of  his  sym- 
bolic poetry,  he  has  a  vision  of  the  spirit  of  Milton  bringing  him  a  revela- 
tion, and  of  the  spirit  Satan.  Satan  in  Blake  is  sometimes  represented  as 
an  evil  power,  sometimes  as  a  good  power  wrongly  supposed  by  men  to 
be  evil.  Here  he  is  evil.  Like  the  fiends  in  Book  I  of  Paradise  Lost,  he 
represents  the  sinister  power  of  false  religions,  imitating  the  Eternal,  Great 
Humanity,  and  darkening  man's  heaven  with  his  mantle  of  mistaken  laws. 

And  Milton  collecting  all  his  fibres  into  impregnable  strength, 
Descended  down  a  Paved  work  of  all  kinds  of  precious  stones 
Out  from  the  eastern  sky,  descending  down  into  my  Cottage 
Garden,  clothed  in  black,  severe  and  silent  he  descended. 

The  Spectre  of  Satan  stood  upon  the  roaring  sea,  and  beheld 
Milton  within  his  sleeping  Humanity;  trembling  and  shudd'ring, 
He  stood  upon  the  waves  a  Twenty-seven-fold  mighty  Demon 
Gorgeous  and  beautiful.     Loud  roll  his  thunders  against  Milton. 
Loud  Satan  thunder'd,  loud  and  dark  upon  mild  Felpham  shore, 
Not  daring  to  touch  one  fibre,  he  howl'd  round  upon  the  Sea. 

I  also  stood  in  Satan's  bosom,  and  beheld  its  desolations, 
A  ruin'd  Man,  a  ruin'd  building  of  God,  not  made  with  hands, 
Its  plains  of  burning  sand,  its  mountains  of  marble  terrible, 
Its  pits  and  declivities  flowing  with  molten  ore  and  fountains 


Of  pitch  and  nitre;  its  ruin'd  palaces  and  cities  and  mighty  works; 
Its  furnaces  of  affliction,  in  which  his  Angels  and  Emanations 
Labour  with  blacken'd  visages  among  its  stupendous  ruins ; 
Arches  and  pyramids  and  porches,  colonnades  and  domes, 
In  which  dwells  Mystery,  Babylon;  here  is  her  secret  place. 
From  hence  she  comes  forth  on  the  Churches  in  delight. 
Here  is  her  Cup  fill'd  with  its  poisons  in  these  horrid  vales; 
And  here  her  scarlet  Veil  woven  in  pestilence  and  war. 

Suddenly  around  Milton  on  my  Path,  the  Starry  Seven 

Burn'd  terrible.     My  Path  became  a  solid  fire,  as  bright 

As  the  clear  Sun,  and  Milton,  silent,  came  down  on  my  Path. 

And  there  went  forth  from  the  Starry  limbs  of  the  Seven,  Forms 

Human,  with  Trumpets  innumerable,  sounding  articulate, 

As  the  Seven  spake ;  and  they  stood  in  a  mighty  Column  of  Fire, 

Surrounding  Felpham's  Vale,  reaching  to  the  Mundane  Shell. 

Loud  Satan  thunder'd,  loud  and  dark  upon  mild  Felpham's  Shore, 
Coming  in  a  Cloud  with  Trumpets  and  with  Fiery  Flame, 
An  awful  Form  eastward  from  midst  of  a  bright  Paved-work 
Of  precious  stones,  by  Cherubim  surrounded,  so  permitted 
(Lest  he  should  fall  apart  in  his  Eternal  Death)  to  imitate 
The  Eternal  Great  Humanity  Divine,  surrounded  by 
His  Cherubim  and  Seraphim  in  ever  happy  Eternity. 
Beneath  sat  Chaos,  Sin  on  his  right  hand,  Death  on  his  left. 
And  Ancient  Night  spread  over  all  the  heav'n  his  Mantle  of  Laws. 


V 
FROM  THE  STORY  OF  THARMAS  AND  ENION 

Tharmas  is  one  of  the  four  allegoric  kings  of  Blake's  mental  realm, 
the  presiding  genius  of  the  vegetable  world,  and  the  spirit  of  dreamy, 
sensuous  laziness.  Enion  is  his  wife,  and  appears  at  times  as  a  kind  of 
universal  mother.  In  these  extracts  she  is  represented  as  grieving  over 
Tharmas'  unworthiness.  Like  most  of  Blake's  symbolic  deities,  she  dies 
and  comes  to  life  again.  In  our  second  extract  from  the  story  of  Luvah 
and  Vala,  Tharmas  and  Enion  appear  as  mature  lovers,  then  are  trans- 
formed to  children,  and  play  in  the  gardens  of  Vala. 


Enion  said:  "Thy  fears  have  made  me  tremble,  thy  terrors  have 

surrounded  me. 

All  love  is  lost,  Terror  succeeds,  and  hatred  instead  of  love, 
And  stern  demands  of  Right  and  Duty,  instead  of  Liberty. 

8 


Once  thou  wast  to  me  the  loveliest  son  of  heaven,  but  now 
Why  art  thou  terrible  ?    Yet  I  love  thee  in  thy  terror  still. 
I  am  almost  extinct,  and  soon  shall  be  a  shadow  in  Albion, 
Unless  some  way  can  be  found  that  I  can  look  upon  thee  and  live. 
Hide  me  in  some  shadowy  semblance,  secret,  whispering  in  my  ear 
In  secret  of  soft  wings,  in  mazes  of  delusive  beauty. 
I  have  looked  into  the  secret  soul  of  him  I  love, 
And  in  the  dark  recesses  have  found  sin,  and  cannot  return." 

Trembling  and  pale  sat  Tharmas,  weeping  into  his  cloud. 

"Sometimes  I  think  thou  art  a  flower  expanding, 

Sometimes  I  think  thou  art  a  fruit,  breaking  from  its  bud 

In  dreadful  dolour  and  pain;  and  I  am  like  an  atom, — 

A  nothing,  left  in  darkness;  yet  I  am  an  identity. 

I  wish,  and  feel,  and  weep,  and  moan!    Ah,  terrible!  terrible! 

Why  wilt  thou  examine  every  little  fibre  of  my  soul, 

Spreading  them  out  before  the  sun  like  stalks  of  flax  to  dry? 

The  Infant  Joy  is  beautiful,  but  his  anatomy 

Horrible,  ghast,  and  deadly.    Nought  shalt  thou  find  in  it 

But  dark  despair  and  ever-brooding  melancholy. 

Thou  wilt  go  mad  with  horror  if  thou  examine  thus 

Every  moment  of  my  secret  hours.    Yea,  I  know 

That  I  have  sinned.  .   .   .  Despair  will  try  self-murder  on  my  soul. 

O  Enion,  thou  art  thyself  a  lost  power  in  hell, 

Though  Heavenly  beautiful  to  draw  me  to  destruction." 

Listening  to  her  soft  lamentations,  soon  his  tongue  began 

To  lisp  out  words,  and  soon  in  masculine  strength  augmenting  he 

Reared  up  a  form  of  gold  and  stood  upon  the  glittering  rock 

A  shadowy  human  form  winged,  and  in  his  depths 

The  dazzling  gems  shone  clear,  rapturous  in  fury, 

Glorying  in  his  own  eyes,  exalted  in  terrific  pride, 

Searching  for  glory,  wishing  that  the  heavens  had  eyes  to  see, 

And  wishing  that  the  earth  could  ope  her  eyelids  and  behold 

Such  wondrous  beauty  opening  in  the  midst  of  all  his  glory, 

That  might  but  Enion  could  be  found  to  praise,  admire,  and  love. 

Three  days  in  self-admiring  raptures  on  the  rock  he  flamed, 
And  three  dark  nights  repined  in  solitude,  but  the  third  morn 
Astonished  he  found  Enion  hidden  in  the  darksome  cave. 

She  spoke:  "What  am  I?    Wherefore  was  I  put  forth  on  these  rocks, 

Among  the  clouds,  to  tremble  in  the  wind,  in  solitude? 

Where  is  the  voice  that  lately  woke  the  desert?    Where  the  face 


That  wept  among  the  clouds,  and  where  the  voice  that  shall  reply? 
No  other  living  thing  is  here,  the  sea,  the  earth,  the  heaven, 
And  Enion,  desolate?    Where  art  thou,  Tharmas?    O  return." 

Three  days  she  wailed,  and  three  dark  nights  sitting  among  the  rocks, 
While  the  bright  spectre  hid  himself  among  the  darkening  clouds. 
Then  sleep  fell  on  her  eyelids  in  a  chasm  of  the  valley. 


Enion  brooded  o'er  the  rocks.    The  rough  rocks  groaning  vegetate — 
Such  power  was  given  to  the  solitary  wanderer — 
The  barked  oak,  the  long-limbed  beech,  the  chestnut-tree,  the  pine, 
The  pear-tree  mild,  the  frowning  walnut,  the  sharp  crab,  and  apple 

sweet ; 

The  rough  bark  opens,  twittering  peep  forth  little  beaks  and  wings, 
The  nightingale,  the  goldfinch,  robin,  lark,  linnet  and  thrush. 
The  goat  leaped  from  the  craggy  cliff,  the  sheep  awoke  from  the 

mould, 

Upon  its  green  stalk  rose  the  corn,  waving  innumerable, 
Enfolding  the  bright  infants  from  the  desolating  winds — 
They  sulk  upon  her  breast,  her  hair  became  like  snow  on  mountains, 
Weaker  and  weaker,  weeping,  woeful,  wearier  and  wearier, 
Faded,  and  her  bright  eyes  decay'd  with  pity  and  love. 
And  then  they  wandered  far  away,  she  sought  for  them  in  vain. 
In  weeping  blindness,  stumbling,  she  followed  them  o'er  rocks  and 

mountains. 


Enion,  blind  and  age-bent,  wept  upon  the  desolate  wind: — 

"Why  does  the  Raven  cry  aloud  and  no  eye  pities  her? 
Why  fall  the  Sparrow  and  the  Robin  in  the  foodless  winter? 
Faint,  shivering,  they  sit  on  leafless  bush  or  frozen  stone 
Wearied  with  seeking  food  across  the  snowy  waste,  the  little 
Heart  cold,  the  little  tongue  consumed  that  once  in  thoughtless  joy 
Gave  songs  of  gratitude  to  waving  cornfields  round  their  nest. 

Why  howl  the  lion  and  the  wolf?    Why  do  they  roam  abroad? 
Deluded  by  the  summer's  heat  they  sport  in  enormous  love, 
And  cast  their  young  out  to  the  hungry  winds  and  sandy  deserts. 

Why  is  the  sheep  given  to  the  knife?    The  lamb  plays  in  the  sun. 
He  starts;  he  hears  the  foot  of  Man!    He  says  'Take  thou  my  wool, 
But  spare  my  life' ;  but  he  knows  not  that  winter  cometh  fast. 

10 


The  spider  sits  in  his  laboured  net,  eager,  watching  for  the  fly. 
Presently  comes  a  famished  bird  and  takes  away  the  spider. 
His  web  is  left  all  desolate  that  his  little  anxious  heart 
So  careful  wove  and  spread  it  out  with  sighs  and  weariness." 

This  was  the  lamentation  of  Enion  round  the  golden  tent. 


[Thus  Enion]  wails  on  the  dark  deep;  the  golden  heavens  tremble: 
"I  am  made  to  sow  the  thistle  for  wheat,  the  nettle  for  a  nourishing 

dainty. 
I  have  planted  a  false  oath  in  the  earth;  it  has  brought  forth  a 

poison  tree. 

I  have  chosen  the  serpent  for  a  counsellor,  and  the  dog 
For  a  schoolmaster  to  my  children. 

I  have  blotted  out  from  light  and  living  the  dove  and  nightingale. 
And  I  have  caused  the  earthworm  to  beg  from  door  to  door. 
I  have  taught  the  thief  a  secret  path  into  the  house  of  the  just. 
I  have  taught  pale  Artifice  to  spread  his  nets  upon  the  morning. 
My  heavens  are  brass,  my  earth  is  iron,  my  moon  a  clod  of  clay, 
My  sun  a  pestilence  burning  at  noon,  and  a  vapour  of  death  in  night. 
What  is  the  price  of  experience?    Do  men  buy  it  for  a  song? 
Or  wisdom  for  a  dance  in  the  street?    No,  it  is  bought  with  the  price 
Of  all  that  a  man  hath, — his  house,  his  wife,  his  children. 
Wisdom  is  sold  in  the  desolate  market  where  none  come  to  buy, 
And  in  the  withered  field  where  the  farmer  ploughs  for  bread  in  vain. 
It  is  an  easy  thing  to  triumph  in  the  summer's  sun, 
And  in  the  vintage  to  sing  on  the  waggon  loaded  with  corn. 
It  is  an  easy  thing  to  talk  of  patience  to  the  afflicted, 
To  speak  the  laws  of  prudence  to  the  houseless  wanderer, 
To  listen  to  the  hungry  raven's  cry  in  wintry  season, 
When  the  red  blood  is  filled  with  wine  and  with  the  marrow  of  lambs. 
It  is  an  easy  thing  to  laugh  at  wrathful  elements, 
To  hear  the  dog  howl  at  the  wintry  door,  the  ox  in  the  slaughter- 
house moan; 

To  see  a  God  on  every  wind  and  a  blessing  on  every  blast; 
To  hear  sounds  of  love  in  the  thunderstorm  that  destroys  our  enemy's 

house ; 
To  rejoice  in  the  blight  that  covers  his  field,  and  the  sickness  that  cuts 

off  his  children, 
While  our  olive  and  vine  sing  and  laugh  round  our  door,  and  our 

children  bring  fruits  and  flowers. 
Then  the  groan  and  the  dolour  are  quite  forgotten,  and  the  slave 

grinding  at  the  mill, 

II 


And  the  captive  in  chains,  and  the  poor  in  the  prison,  and  the  soldier 

in  the  field 
When  the  shattered  bone  hath  laid  him  groaning  among  the  happier 

dead. 

It  is  an  easy  thing  to  rejoice  in  the  tents  of  prosperity: — 
Thus  would  I  sing  and  thus  rejoice :  but  it  is  not  so  with  me." 


Thus  cries  Ahania.    Enion  replies  from  the  caverns  of  the  grave : 

"Fear  not,  O  poor  forsaken  one.    O  land  of  grass  and  thorns, 

Where  once  the  olive  flourished  and  the  cedar  spread  his  wings, 

Once  I  wailed  desolate  like  thee;  my  fallow  fields  in  fear 

Cried  to  the  churchyards  and  the  earthworm  came  in  dismal  state. 

I  found  him  in  my  bosom,  and  I  said  the  time  of  love 

Appears  upon  the  rocks  and  hills  in  silent  shades,  but  soon 

A  voice  came  in  the  night,  a  midnight  cry  upon  the  mountains : 

'Awake!    The  bridegroom  cometh!'    I  awoke  to  sleep  no  more. 

But  an  eternal  consummation  is  dark  Enion. 

The  watery  grave !    O !  thou  cornfield !    O !  thou  vegetative  happy ! 

More  happy  is  the  dark  consumer.     Hope  drowns  all  my  torment, 

For  I  am  now  surrounded  by  a  shadowy  vortex  drawing 

The  spectre  quite  away  from  Enion  that  I  die  a  death 

Of  bitter  hope,  although  I  consume  in  these  raging  waters. 

The  furrowed  field  replies  to  the  grave,  I  hear  her  reply  to  me, — 

'Behold  the  time  approaches  fast  that  thou  shalt  be  as  a  thing 

Forgotten.    When  one  speaks  of  thee  he  will  not  be  believed. 

When  the  man  gently  fades  away  in  his  immortality, 

When  the  mortal  disappears  in  improved  knowledge,  cast  away 

The  former  things;  so  shall  the  mortal  gently  fade  away, 

And  so  become  invisible  to  those  who  still  remain.' 

Listen.    I  will  tell  thee  what  is  done  in  the  caverns  of  the  grave. 
The  Lamb  of  God  has  rent  the  veil  of  mystery,  soon  to  return 
In  clouds  and  fires  around  the  rock,  and  thy  mysterious  tree. 
And  as  the  seed  waits  eagerly  watching  for  its  flower  and  fruit, 
Anxious  its  little  soul  looks  out  into  the  clear  expanse 
To  see  if  hungry  winds  are  abroad  with  their  invisible  array, 
So  Man  looks  out  in  tree,  and  herb,  and  fish,  and  bird,  and  beast, 
Collecting  up  the  scattered  portions  of  his  immortal  body 
Into  the  elemental  forms  of  everything  that  grows. 
He  tries  the  sullen  north  wind,  riding  on  its  angry  furrows, 
The  sultry  south  when  the  sun  rises,  and  the  angry  east 
When  the  sun  sets  and  the  clods  harden  and  the  cattle  stand 
Drooping,  and  the  birds  hide  in  their  silent  nests.     He  stores  his 
thoughts 

12 


As  in  store-houses  in  his  memory.    He  regulates  the  forms 

Of  all  beneath  and  all  above,  and  in  the  gentle  west 

Reposes  where  the  sun's  heat  dwells.    He  rises  to  the  sun 

And  to  the  planets  of  the  night,  and  to  the  stars  that  gild 

The  Zodiacs,  and  the  stars  that  sullen  stand  to  north  and  south. 

He  touches  the  remotest  pole,  and  in  the  centre  weeps 

That  Man  should  labour  and  sorrow,  and  learn  and  forget  and  return 

To  the  dark  valley  whence  he  came,  and  begin  his  labours  anew. 

In  pain  he  sighs,  in  pain  he  labours,  and  his  universe 

Sorrowing  in  birds  over  the  deep,  or  howling  in  the  wolf 

Over  the  slain,  and  moaning  in  the  cattle;  and  in  the  winds, 

And  in  the  cries  of  birth  and  in  the  groans  of  death  his  voice 

Is  heard  throughout  the  universe.    Wherever  a  grass  grows 

Or  a  leaf  buds,  the  Eternal  Man  is  seen,  is  heard,  is  felt, 

And  all  his  sorrows,  till  he  re-assumes  his  ancient  bliss." 


VI 
FROM  THE  STORY  OF  LUVAH  AND  VALA 

Luvah,  like  Tharmas,  is  one  of  the  four  kings  of  Blake's  mental 
world.  Vala  is  his  wife.  Luvah  represents  the  passionate  element  in  man, 
either  as  love  or  hate.  In  his  noblest  aspects  he  is  identified  with  Christ, 
in  his  darker  aspects  with  Satan.  Vala  symbolizes  external  nature,  or 
rather  man's  conception  of  external  nature  and  the  influence  of  that  con- 
ception on  his  life.  Like  the  nature  that  she  represents,  she  is  sometimes 
beautiful  and  innocent,  at  other  times  cruel,  not  through  malignancy,  but 
with  the  magnificent  indifference  which  natural  forces  show  toward  human 
suffering. 


[Vala  Walks  Over  the  Hills.'] 

And  she  went  forth  and  saw  the  forms  of  life  and  of  delight 
Walking  on  mountains  or  flying  in  the  open  expanse  of  heaven. 
She  heard  sweet  voices  in  the  winds  and  in  the  voices  of  birds 
That  rose  from  waters;  for  the  waters  were  as  the  voice  of  Luvah, 
Not  seen  to  her  like  waters  or  like  this  dark  world  of  death, 
Though  all  those  fair  perfections  which  men  know  only  by  name 
In  beautiful  substantial  forms  appeared  and  served  her 
As  food  or  drink  or  ornament,  or  in  delightful  works 
To  build  her  bowers.     For  the  elements  brought  forth  abundantly 
The  living  soul  in  glorious  forms,  and  every  one  came  forth 
Walking  before  her  shadowy  face  and  bowing  at  her  feet. 
For  her  delight  the  horse  his  proud  neck  bowed,  and  his  white  mane, 

13 


And  the  strong  lion  deigned  in  his  mouth  to  wear  the  golden  bit, 
While  the  far-beaming  peacock  waited  on  the  fragrant  wind 
To  bring  her  fruits  of  sweet  delight  from  trees  of  richest  wonders, 
And  the  strong-pinioned  eagle  bore  the  fire  of  heaven  in  the  night 
season. 


And  thus  their  ancient  golden  age  renewed,  for  Luvah  spoke 
With  voice  mild  from  his  golden  cloud  upon  the  breath  of  morning. 

"Come  forth,  O  Vala !  from  the  grass  and  from  the  silent  dew; 
Rise  from  the  dews  of  death,  for  the  Eternal  Man  is  risen." 

She  rises  among  flowers  and  looks  toward  the  eastern  clearness, 

She  walks,  yea  runs,  her  feet  are  winged  on  the  tops  of  the  bending 

grass, 
Her  garments  rejoice  in  the  vocal  wind,  and  her  hair  glistens  with  dew. 

She  answered  thus :  "Whose  voice  is  this,  in  the  voice  of  the  nourishing 

air, 

In  the  spirit  of  the  morning,  awakening  the  soul  from  its  grassy  bed? 
Where  dost  thou  dwell?  for  it  is  thee  I  seek,  and  but  for  thee 
I  must  have  slept  eternally,  nor  have  felt  the  dew  of  thy  morning. 
Look  how  the  opening  dawn  advances  with  vocal  harmony. 
Look  how  the  beams  foreshow  the  rising  of  some  glorious  power. 
The  sun  is  thine;  he  goeth  forth  in  his  majestic  brightness. 
O,  thou  creating  voice  that  callest!  and  who  shall  answer  thee? 
Where  dost  thou  flee,  O  fair  one?  where  dost  thou  seek  thy  happy 

place? 

To  yonder  brightness?    There  I  haste,  for  sure  I  came  from  thence; 
Or  I  must  have  slept  eternally,  nor  have  felt  the  dew  of  morning." 

"Eternally  thou  must  have  slept  nor  have  felt  the  morning  dew, 
But  for  yon  nourishing  sun;  'tis  that  by  which  thou  art  arisen. 
The  birds  adore  the  sun;  the  beasts  rise  up  and  play  in  his  beams, 
And  every  flower  and  every  leaf  rejoices  in  his  light. 
Then,  O !  thou  fair  one,  sit  thee  down,  for  thou  art  as  the  grass, 
Thou  risest  in  the  dew  of  morning  and  at  night  art  folded  up." 

"Alas!  am  I  but  as  a  flower?    Then  will  I  sit  me  down, 
Then  will  I  weep,  then  I'll  complain,  and  sigh  for  immortality, 
And  chide  my  maker, — thee,  O  sun!  that  raisedst  me  to  fall." 
So  saying  she  sat  down  and  wept  beneath  the  apple-trees. 

14 


"O!  be  thou  blotted  out,  thou  sun!  that  raisedst  me  to  trouble, 
That  gavest  me  a  heart  to  crave,  and  raisedst  me,  thy  phantom, 
To  feel  thy  heart,  and  see  thy  light,  and  wander  here  alone, 
Hopeless,  if  I  am  like  the  grass,  and  so  shall  pass  away." 

"Rise,  sluggish  soul.    Why  sitt'st  thou  here?    Why  dost  thou  sit  and 

weep? 

Yon  sun  shall  wax  old  and  decay,  but  thou  shalt  ever  flourish. 
The  fruit  shall  ripen  and  fall  down,  the  flowers  consume  away, 
But  thou  shalt  still  survive.    Arise !  O  dry  thy  dewy  tears." 

"Ha!  shall  I  still  survive?    Whence  came  that  sweet  and  comforting 

voice? 
And  whence  that  voice  of  sorrow?    O  sun!  thou  art  nothing  now  to 

me. 

Go  on  thy  course  rejoicing,  and  let  us  both  rejoice  together. 
I  walk  among  His  flocks  and  hear  the  bleating  of  His  lambs. 
O !  that  I  could  behold  His  face  and  follow  His  pure  feet ! 
I  walk  by  the  footsteps  of  His  flocks.     Come  hither,  tender  flocks. 
Can  you  converse  with  a  pure  soul  that  seeketh  for  her  maker? 
You  answer  not.    Then  am  I  set  your  mistress  in  the  garden. 
I'll  watch  you  and  attend  your  footsteps.    You  are  not  like  the  birds 
That  sing  and  fly  in  the  bright  air;  but  you  do  lick  my  feet 
And  let  me  touch  your  woolly  backs;  follow  me  as  I  sing; 
For  in  my  bosom  a  new  song  arises  to  my  Lord: 

Rise  up,  O  sun !  most  glorious  minister  and  light  of  day. 

Flow  on,  ye  gentle  airs,  and  bear  the  voice  of  my  rejoicing. 

Wave  freshly,  [you]  clear  waters  flowing,  around  the  tender  grass. 

And  thou,  sweet  smelling  ground,  put  forth  thy  life  in  fruit  and  flowers. 

Follow  me,  O  my  flocks !  and  hear  me  sing  my  rapturous  song. 

I  will  cause  my  voice  to  be  heard  on  the  clouds  that  glitter  in  the  sun. 

I  will  call ;  and  who  shall  answer  me  ?    I  shall  sing ;  who  shall  reply? 

For  from  my  pleasant  hills  behold  the  living,  living  springs, 

Running  among  my  green  pastures,  delighting  among  my  trees. 

I  am  not  here  alone ;  my  flocks,  you  are  my  brethren. 

And  you,  [ye]  birds !  that  sing  and  adorn  the  sky,  you  are  my  sisters. 

I  sing,  and  you  reply  to  my  song;  I  rejoice,  and  you  are  glad. 

Follow  me,  O  my  flocks ;  we  will  now  descend  into  the  valley. 

O,  how  delicious  are  the  grapes,  flourishing  in  the  sun ! 

How  clear  the  spring  of  the  rock,  running  among  the  golden  sand! 

How  cool  the  breezes  of  the  valley!     And  the  arms  of  the  branching 

trees 

Cover  us  from  the  sun.    Come  and  let  us  sit  in  the  shade. 
My  Luvah  here  hath  placed  me  in  a  sweet  and  pleasant  land, 

15 


And  given  me  fruits  and  pleasant  waters,  and  warm  hills  and  cool 

valleys. 

Here  will  I  build  myself  a  house,  and  here  I'll  call  on  his  name, 
Here  I'll  return  when  I  am  weary  and  take  my  pleasant  rest." 

So  spoke  the  sinless  soul,  and  laid  her  head  in  the  snowy  fleece 

Of  a  curled  ram,  who  stretched  himself  in  sleep  beside  [his  mistress], 

And  soft  sleep  fell  upon  her  eyelids  in  the  silent  noon  of  day. 

Then  Luvah  passed  by,  and  saw  the  sinless  soul, 

And  said:  "Let  a  pleasant  house  arise  to  be  a  dwelling-place 

Of  this  immortal  spirit  growing  in  lower  Paradise." 

He  spoke,  and  pillars  were  builded,  and  walls,  as  white  as  ivory. 

The  grass  she  slept  upon  was  paved  with  pavement  as  of  pearl. 

Beneath  her  rose  a  downy  bed,  and  a  ceiling  covered  all. 

Vala  awoke.     "When  in  the  pleasant  gates  of  sleep  I  entered, 

I  saw  my  Luvah  like  a  spirit  stand  in  the  bright  air. 

Round  him  stood  spirits  like  me,  who  reared  me  a  bright  house, 

And  here  I  see  the  house  remain  in  my  most  pleasant  world. 

My  Luvah  smiled.    I  kneeled  down.    He  laid  his  hand  on  my  head, 

And  when  he  laid  his  hand  upon  me  from  the  gates  of  sleep  I  came 

Into  this  bodily  house  to  tend  my  flocks  in  my  pleasant  garden." 

So  saying,  she  arose  and  walked  round  her  beautiful  house; 

And  then  from  her  white  door  she  looked  to  see  her  bleating  lambs, 

But  her  flocks  were  gone  up  from  beneath  the  trees  into  the  hills. 

"I  see  the  hand  that  leadeth  me  doth  also  lead  my  flocks." 

She  went  up  to  her  flocks,  and  turned  oft  to  see  her  shining  house. 

She  stooped  to  drink  of  the  clear  spring,  and  eat  the  grapes  and  apples. 

She  bore  the  fruits  in  her  lap;  she  gathered  flowers  for  her  bosom. 

She  called  to  her  flocks,  saying,  "Follow  me,  O  my  Flocks !" 

They  followed  her  to  the  silent  valley  beneath  the  spreading  trees, 

And  on  the  river's  margin  she  ungirded  her  golden  girdle. 

She  stood  in  the  river  and  viewed  herself  within  the  wat'ry  glass, 
And  her  bright  hair  was  wet  with  the  waters.     She  rose  up  from  the 

river, 

And  as  she  rose  her  eyes  were  opened  to  the  world  of  waters; 
She  saw  Tharmas  sitting  upon  the  rocks  beside  the  wavy  sea. 

He  stroked  the  water  from  his  beard  and  mourned  faint  through  the 

summer  valley. 
And  Vala  stood  on  the  rocks  of  Tharmas  and  heard  the  mournful 

voice : 

"O,  Enion!  my  weary  head  is  in  the  bed  of  death, 
For  weeds  of  death  have  wrapped  around  my  limbs  in  the  hoary  deeps. 

16 


I  sit  in  the  place  of  shells  and  mourn,  and  thou  art  closed  in  clouds. 
When  will  the  time  of  clouds  be  past,   and  the   dismal  night  of 

Tharmas? 

Arise,  O  Enion !  arise  and  smile  upon  my  head, 
As  thou  dost  smile  upon  the  barren  mountains,  and  they  rejoice. 
When  wilt  thou  smile  on  Tharmas,  O!  thou  bringer  of  golden  day? 
Arise,  O  Enion !  arise,  for  lo !  I  have  calmed  my  seas." 

So  saying,  his  faint  head  he  laid  upon  the  oozy  rock, 

And  darkness  covered  all  the  deep.    The  light  of  Enion  faded, 

Like  a  faint  flame  quivering  upon  the  surface  of  the  darkness. 

Then  Vala  lifted  up  her  hands  to  heaven  to  call  on  Enion. 

She  called,  but  none  could  answer  her,   and  the  echoes  her  voice 

returned. 

"Where  is  the  voice  of  God  that  called  me  from  the  silent  dew? 
Where  is  the  Lord  of  Vala?    Dost  thou  hide  in  clefts  of  the  rock? 
Why  shouldst  thou  hide  thyself  from  Vala,  from  the  soul  that  wanders 

desolate?" 

She  ceased,  and  light  beamed  round  her  like  the  glory  of  the  morning. 
And  she  arose  out  of  the  river  and  girded  her  golden  girdle. 
And  now  her  feet  step  on  the  grassy  bosom  of  the  ground 
Among  her  flocks.     She  turned  her  eyes  toward  her  pleasant  house, 
And  saw  in  the  doorway  beneath  the  trees  two  little  children  playing. 
She  drew  near  to  her  house,  and  her  flocks  followed  in  her  footsteps. 
The  children  clung  round  her  knees.     She  embraced  them  and  wept 
over  them. 

"Thou,  little  boy,  art  Tharmas,  and  thou,  bright  girl,  Enion. 
How  are  ye  thus  renewed  and  brought  into  the  garden  of  Vala?" 
She  embraced  them  in  tears,  till  the  sun  descended  the  western  hills, 
And  then  she  entered  her  bright  house,  leading  her  mighty  children. 
And  when  night  came,  her  flocks  laid  round  the  house  beneath  the 
trees. 

She  laid  the  children  on  the  beds  which  she  saw  prepared  in  the  house, 
Then  last,  herself  laid  down,  and  closed  her  eyelids  in  soft  slumbers. 
And  in  the  morning,  when  the  sun  arose  in  the  crystal  sky, 
Vala  awoke,  and  called  her  children  from  their  gentle  slumbers : 
"Awake,  O  Enion !  awake,  and  let  thine  immortal  eyes 
Enlighten  all  the  crystal  house  of  Vala !    Awake !  awake ! 
Awake,  Tharmas !    Awake,  awake,  thou  child  of  dewy  tears. 
Open  the  orbs  of  thy  blue  eyes  and  smile  upon  my  gardens." 


The  children  awoke  and  smiled  on  Vala.     She  kneeled  by  the  golden 

couch, 

She  pressed  them  to  her  bosom,  and  her  pearly  tears  dropped  down. 
"O,  my  sweet  children!     Enion,  let  Tharmas  kiss  thy  cheek. 
Why  dost  thou  turn  thyself  away  from  his  sweet  watery  eyes  ? 
Tharmas,  henceforth  in  Vala's  bosom  thou  shalt  find  sweet  peace. 
O,  bless  the  lovely  eyes  of  Tharmas  and  the  eyes  of  Enion !" 

They  rose;  they  went  out  wandering,  sometimes  together,  sometimes 

alone. 
"Why  weep'st  thou,  Tharmas,  child  of  tears,  in  the  bright  house  of 

joy? 

Doth  Enion  avoid  the  sight  of  thy  blue  heavenly  eyes? 
And  dost  thou  wander  with  my  lambs,  and  wet  their  innocent  faces 
With  thy  bright  tears,  because  the  steps  of  Enion  are  in  the  gardens? 
Arise,  sweet  boy,  and  let  us  follow  the  path  of  Enion." 

So  saying,  they  went  down  into  the  garden  among  the  fruits, 
And  Enion  sang  among  the  flowers  that  grew  among  the  fruits, 
And  Vala  said:  "Go,  Tharmas;  weep  not, — go  to  Enion." 

He  said:  "O,  Vala,  I  am  sick,  and  all  this  garden  of  pleasure 

Swims  like  a  dream  before  my  eyes.     But  the  sweet  smiling  fruit 

Revives  me  to  new  death.     I  fade,  even  as  a  waterlily 

In  the  sun's  heat,  till  in  the  night,  on  the  couch  of  Enion, 

I  drink  in  new  life,  and  feel  the  breath  of  sleeping  Enion. 

But  in  the  morning  she  arises  to  avoid  my  eyes, 

Then  my  loins  fade,  and  in  the  house  I  sit  me  down  and  weep." 

"Cheer  up  thy  countenance,  bright  boy,  and  go  to  Enion. 
Tell  her  that  Vala  waits  her  in  the  shadows  of  her  garden." 
He  went  with  timid  steps;  and  Enion,  like  the  ruddy  morn 
When  infant  spring  appears  in  swelling  buds  and  opening  flowers, 
Behind  her  veil  withdraws,  so  Enion  turned  her  modest  head. 

But  Tharmas  spoke:  "Vala  seeks  thee,  sweet  Enion,  in  the  shades. 
Follow  the  steps  of  Tharmas,  O !  thou  brightness  of  the  garden." 
He  took  her  hand  reluctant.     She  followed  in  infant  doubts. 
There  in  eternal  childhood,  straying  among  Vala's  flocks, 
In  infant  sorrow  and  joy  alternate,  Enion  and  Tharmas  play'd 
Round  Vala,  in  the  garden  of  Vala,  and  by  her  river's  margin. 

18 


3 

[The  scene  here  symbolizes  some  great  day  of  revolution,  a  movement 
fraught  with  both  hope  and  terror.  As  the  symbol  of  human  passion 
Luvah  is  god  of  both  love  and  hate,  and  appears  now  in  the  latter 
capacity.  His  wine-presses  are  probably  the  hatreds  and  wars  of 
nations;  the  grapes  are  human  victims;  the  wine  is  blood.] 

Then  all  the  slaves  from  every  earth  in  the  wide  Universe 

Sing  a  new  song,  drowning  confusion  in  its  happy  notes, 

So  loud,  so  clear  in  the  wide  heavens,  and  the  song  that  they  sang  was 

this, 
Composed  by  an  African  Black  from  the  little  earth  of  Sotha : — 

"Aha !  Aha !    How  came  I  here  so  soon,  in  my  sweet  native  land? 

How  came  I  here?    Methinks  I  am  as  I  was  in  my  youth, 

When  in  my  father's  house  I  heard  his  cheering  voice. 

Methinks  I  see  his  flocks  and  herds  and  feel  my  limbs  renewed, 

And  lo  !  my  brethren  in  their  tents,  and  their  little  ones  around  them  I" 

The  song  arose  to  the  golden  feast.     The  Eternal  Man  rejoiced. 
The  Eternal  Man  said:  "Luvah,  the  vintage  is  ripe.    Arise ! 
My  flocks  and  herds  trample  the  corn,  my  cattle  browse  upon 
The  ripe  clusters.    The  shepherds  shout  for  Luvah,  Prince  of  Love. 
Let  the  Bulls  of  Luvah  tread  the  corn  and  draw  the  loaded  waggon 
Into  the  barn  while  children  glean  the  ears  around  the  door. 
Then  shall  they  lift  their  innocent  hands  and  stroke  his  furious  nose, 
And  he  shall  lick  the  little  girl's  white  neck,  and  on  her  head 
Scatter  the  perfumes  of  his  breath,  while  from  his  mountains  high 
The  lion  of  terror  shall  come  down,  and  bending  his  bright  mane 
And  crouching  at  their  side,  shall  eat  from  the  curly  boy's  white  lap 
His  golden  food,  and  in  the  evening  sleep  before  the  door." 

"Attempting  to  be  more  than  man  we  become  less,"  said  Luvah, 
As  he  arose  from  the  bright  feast,  drunk  with  the  wine  of  ages. 
His  crown  of  thorns  fell  from  his  head,  he  hung  his  living  lyre 
Behind  the  seat  of  the  Eternal  Man,  and  took  his  way. 
His  sons,  arising  from  the  feast  with  golden  baskets,  follow, 
A  fiery  train,  as  when  the  Sun  sings  in  the  ripe  vineyards. 

Then  Luvah  stood  before  the  wine-press.    All  his  fiery  sons 

Brought  up  the  loaded  waggons  with  shoutings.     Ramping  tigers  play 

In  the  jingling  traces;  furious  lions  sound  the  song  of  joy 

To  the  golden  wheels  circling  upon  the  pavement  of  heaven,  and  all 

The  villages  of  Luvah  rising;  the  golden  tiles  of  the  villages 

Reply  to  violins  and  tabors,  to  the  pipe,  flute,  lyre,  and  cymbal. 

Down,  down,  through  the  immense,  with  outcry,  fury,  and  despair, 

19 


Into  the  wine-presses  of  Luvah,  howling,  fall  the  clusters 

Of  human  families  through  the  deep.    The  wine-presses  are  filled, 

The  blood  of  life  flowed  plentiful;  odours  of  life  arose 

All  round  the  heavenly  arches,  and  the  odours  rose  singing  this  song 

"Terrible  wine-presses  of  Luvah!     O,  caverns  of  the  grave! 
How  lovely  the  delights  of  those  risen  again  from  death ! 
O,  trembling  joy!    Excess  of  joy  is  like  excessive  grief." 

So  sang  the  human  odours  round  the  wine-presses  of  Luvah. 
But  in  the  wine-presses  is  wailing,  terror  and  despair. 
Forsaken  of  their  elements  they  vanish  and  are  no  more — 
No  more  but  a  desire  of  being,  a  ravening,  distracted  desire, 
Desiring  like  the  hungry  worm,  and  like  the  gaping  grave. 


4 
[This  shows  the  cruel  side  of  nature  and  of  man's  study  of  nature.^ 

Now,  now  the  battle  rages  round  thy  tender  limbs,  O  Vala, 

Now  smile  among  thy  bitter  tears,  now  put  on  all  thy  beauty. 

Is  not  the  wound  of  the  sword  sweet,  and  the  broken  bone  delightful? 

Wilt  thou  now  smile  among  the  scythes  when  the  wounded  groan  in 

the  field? 

We  were  carried  away  in  thousands  from  London,  and  in  tens 
Of  thousands  from  Westminster  and  Marybone  in  ships  closed  up, 
Chain'd  hand  and  foot,  compell'd  to  fight  under  the  iron  whips 
Of  our  captains;  fearing  our  officers  more  than  the  enemy. 
Lift  up  thy  blue  eyes,  Vala,  and  put  on  thy  sapphire  shoes ; 
O  melancholy  Magdalen,  behold  the  morning  over  Maiden  break; 
Gird  on  thy  flaming  zone,  descend  into  the  sepulcher  of  Canterbury; 
Scatter  the  blood  from  thy  golden  brow,  the  tears  from  thy  silver 

locks ; 
Shake  off  the  waters  from  thy  wings,  and  the  dust  from  thy  white 

garments; 
Remember  all  thy  feigned  terrors  on  the  secret  couch  of  Lambeth's 

Vale, 

When  the  sun  rose  in  glowing  morn,  with  arms  of  mighty  hosts 
Marching  to  battle,  who  was  wont  to  rise  with  UrizenV  harps, 
Girt  as  a  sower  with  his  seed  to  scatter  life  abroad  over  Albion. 
Arise,  O  Vala,  bring  the  bow  of  Urizen;  bring  the  swift  arrows  of 

light. 
How  rag'd  the  golden  horses  of  Urizen,  compelled  to  the  chariot  of 

love, 

1  Spirit  of  intellect. 

20 


Compell'd  to  leave  the  plow  to  the  ox,  to  snuff  up  the  winds  of  desola- 
tion, 

To  trample  the  corn-fields  in  boastful  neighings;  this  is  no  gentle 
harp, 

This  is  no  warbling  brook,  nor  shadow  of  a  myrtle  tree; 

But  blood  and  wounds  and  dismal  cries,  and  shadows  of  the  oak; 

And  hearts  laid  open  to  the  light  by  the  broad,  grisly  sword; 

And  bowels  hid  in  hammer'd  steel  ripp'd  quivering  on  the  ground. 

Call  forth  thy  smiles  of  soft  deceit,  call  forth  thy  cloudy  tears; 

We  hear  thy  sighs  in  trumpets  shrill  when  man  shall  blood  renew. 


VII 
FROM  THE  STORY  OF  URIZEN  AND  AHANIA 

Urizen,  another  of  the  four  kings  of  Blake's  mythology,  represents 
the  demonstrative  and  dogmatic  sides  of  intellect,  as  opposed  to  the 
imaginative  and  intuitive.  In  his  proper  sphere  he  is  a  good  power;  but 
out  of  his  proper  sphere,  as  he  usually  is  in  Blake's  myth,  he  is  a  well- 
meaning,  misguided  tyrant,  building  up  mistaken  systems  with  endless 
industry  amid  the  misery  of  his  victims.  This  side  of  his  nature  symbolizes 
the  dogmatic  theologian,  the  dogmatic  scientist,  and  the  pseudo-classic  critic 
of  art  and  poetry.  Ahania,  "the  bright  one,"  is  his  wife,  and  perhaps  the 
most  touching  and  human  of  all  Blake's  female  abstractions.  The  pathos 
of  a  woman's  heart  trying  in  vain  to  solace  itself  with  things  of  the 
intellect  merely  goes  with  her  wherever  she  appears. 


[The  First  Appearance  of  Urizen. ] 

Lo,  a  Shadow  of  horror  is  risen 
In  Eternity!  unknown,  unprolific, 
Self-clos'd,  all-repelling.    What  Demon 
Hath  form'd  this  abominable  void, 
This  soul-shudd'ring  vacuum?     Some  said 
It  is  Urizen.     But  unknown,  abstracted, 
Brooding  secret,  the  dark  power  hid. 

Times  on  times  he  divided,  and  measur'd 
Space  by  space  in  his  ninefold  darkness, 
Unseen,  unknown;  changes  appear'd 
Like  desolate  mountains  rifted  furious 
By  the  black  winds  of  perturbation. 

21 


For  he  strove  in  battles  dire, 

In  unseen  conflictions  with  shapes 

Bred  from  his  forsaken  wilderness; 

Of  beast,  bird,  fish,  serpent,  and  element, 

Combustion,  blast,  vapour,  and  cloud. 

Dark,  revolving  in  silent  activity, 
Unseen  in  tormenting  passions; 
An  activity  unknown  and  horrible; 
A  self-contemplating  shadow, 
In  enormous  labours  occupied. 

But  Eternals  beheld  his  vast  forests; 
Ages  on  ages  he  lay,  clos'd,  unknown, 
Brooding,  shut  in  the  deep ;  all  avoid 
The  petrific,  abominable  chaos. 

His  cold  horrors  silent,  dark  Urizen 
Prepar'd;  his  ten  thousands  of  thunders 
Rang'd  in  gloom'd  array  stretch  out  across 
The  dread  world;  and  the  rolling  of  wheels, 
As  of  swelling  seas,  sound  in  his  clouds, 
In  his  hills  of  stor'd  snows,  in  his  mountains 
Of  hail  and  ice;  voices  of  terror 
Are  heard,  like  thunders  of  autumn, 
When  the  cloud  blazes  over  the  harvests. 


[ The  Descent  of  Urizen' 's 

Ten  thousand  thousand  were  his  hosts  of  spirits  on  the  wind, 
Ten  thousand  thousand  glittering  chariots  shining  in  the  sky. 
They  pour  upon  the  golden  shore  beside  the  silent  ocean, 
Rejoicing  in  the  victory,  and  the  heavens  were  filled  with  blood, 
The  Earth  spread  forth  her  table  wide.    The  Night,  a  silver  cup 
Filled  with  the  wine  of  anguish, — waited  at  the  golden  feast. 
But  the  bright  sun  was  not  as  yet.     He,  filling  all  the  expanse, 
Slept  as  a  bird  in  the  blue  shell  that  soon  shall  burst  away. 

3 
[Ahania,  Driven  Away  by  Urizen,  Wanders  in  the  Abyss.} 

The  lamenting  voice   of  Ahania, 
Weeping  upon  the  void! 
Distant  in  solitary  night 

22 


Her  voice  was  heard;  but  no  form 
Had  she;  but  her  tears  from  clouds 
Eternal  fell  round  the  Tree. 

And  the  voice  cried :  "Ah,  Urizen !    Love ! 
Flower  of  morning !     I  weep  on  the  verge 
Of  Non-entity;  how  wide  the  Abyss 
Between  Ahania  and  thee ! 

I  lie  on  the  verge  of  the  deep; 
I  see  thy  dark  clouds  ascend; 
I  see  thy  black  forests  and  floods, 
A  horrible  waste  to  my  eyes  ! 

Weeping  I  walk  over  rocks, 
Over  dens,  and  thro'  valleys  of  death. 
Why  didst  thou  despise  Ahania, 
To  cast  me  from  thy  bright  presence 
Into  the  World  of  Loneness? 

I  cannot  touch  his  hand, 

Nor  weep  on  his  knees,  nor  hear 

His  voice  and  bow,  nor  see  his  eyes 

And  joy;  nor  hear  his  footsteps,  and 

My  heart  leaps  at  the  lovely  sound! 

I  cannot  kiss  the  place 

Whereon  his  bright  feet  have  trod. 

But  I  wander  on  the  rocks 

With  hard  necessity. 

Where  is  my  golden  palace, 
Where  my  ivory  bed? 
Where  the  joy  of  my  morning  hour, 
Where  the  sons  of  eternity  singing, 

To  awake  bright  Urizen,  my  king, 
To  arise  to  the  mountain  sport, 
To  the  bliss  of  eternal  valleys; 

To  awake  my  king  in  the  morn, 
To  embrace  Ahania's  joy 
On  the  breath  of  his  open  bosom; 
From  my  soft  cloud  of  dew  to  fall 
In  showers  of  life  on  his  harvests? 

23 


When  he  gave  my  happy  soul 
To  the  sons  of  eternal  joy, 
When  he  took  the  daughter  of  life 
Into  my  chambers  of  love ; 

When  I  found  babes  of  bliss  on  my  beds 
And  bosoms  of  milk  in  my  chambers, 
Fill'd  with  eternal  seed — 
O !  eternal  births  sung  round  Ahania, 
In  interchange  sweet  of  their  joys. 

Swell'd  with  ripeness  and  fat  with  fatness, 

Bursting  on  winds  my  odours, 

My  ripe  figs  and  rich  pomegranates, 

In  infant  joy  at  thy  feet, 

O  Urizen,  sported  and  sang. 

Then  thou  with  thy  lap  full  of  seed, 
With  thy  hand  full  of  generous  fire, 
Walked  forth  from  the  clouds  of  morning 
On  the  virgins  of  springing  joy, 
On  the  human  soul  to  cast 
The  seed  of  eternal  science. 

The  sweat  poured  down  thy  temples, 
To  Ahania  returned  in  evening; 
The  moisture  awoke  to  birth, 
My  mother's-joys,  sleeping  in  bliss. 

But  now  alone,  over  rocks,  mountains, 
Cast  out  from  thy  lovely  bosom ! 
Cruel  jealousy,  selfish  fear, 
Self-destroying!  how  can  delight 
Renew  in  these  chains  of  darkness, 
Where  bones  of  beasts  are  strown 
On  the  bleak  and  snowy  mountains, 
Where  bones  from  the  birth  are  buried 
Before  they  see  the  light?" 

4 

[dhania,  Reconciled  to  Urizen,  Attempts  to  Comfort  Him  in  His 

dnxiety.] 

Now  sat  the  King  of  Light  upon  his  starry  throne, 

And  bright  Ahania  bow'd  herself  before  his  splendid  feet. 

"O  Urizen,  look  on  thy  wife,  that  like  a  mournful  stream 

24 


Embraces  round  thy  knees  and  wets  her  bright  hair  with  her  tears. 
Why  sighs  my  lord?    Are  not  the  morning  stars  thy  obedient  sons? 
Do  they  not  bow  their  bright  heads  at  thy  voice,  at  thy  command 
Do  they  not  fly  into  their  stations  and  return  their  light  to  thee  ? 
The  immortal  Atmospheres  are  thine.    There  thou  art  seen  in  glory 
Surrounded  by  the  ever-changing  daughters  of  the  light. 
Thou  sitst  in  harmony,  for  God  hath  set  thee  over  all. 
Why  wilt  thou  look  upon  futurity  darkening  present  joy?" 

She  ceased.    The  Prince  of  Light  obscured  the  splendour  of  his  crown, 

Infolded  in  thick  clouds  from  which  his  mighty  voice  went  forth. 

"O  bright  Ahania,  a  boy  is  born  of  the  dark  ocean 

Whom  Urizen  doth  serve  with  light  replenishing  his  darkness. 

I  am  set  here  a  king  of  trouble,  commanded  here  to  serve 

And  do  my  ministry  to  those  who  eat  of  my  wide  Table. 

All  this  is  mine,  yet  I  must  serve,  and  that  Prophetic  boy 

Must   grow  up   to   command  his   prince;   but   hear  my   determined 

decree:  .   .   . 
Alas  for  me !    What  will  become  of  me  at  that  dread  time?" 

Ahania  bowed  her  head  and  wept  seven  days  before  the  King, 
And  on  the  eighth  day,  when  his  clouds  unfolded  from  his  throne, 
She  raised  her  bright  head  sweet  perfumed,  and  with  heavenly  voice : 

"O  Prince,  the  Eternal  One  hath  set  thee  leader  of  his  hosts, 

Raise  then  thy  radiant  eyes  to  him,  raise  thy  obedient  hands, 

And  comfort  shall  descend  from  heaven  into  thy  darkening  clouds. 

Leave  all  futurity  to  him.     Resume  thy  fields  of  light. 

Why  didst  thou  listen  to  the  voice  of  Luvah  that  dread  morn 

To  give  the  immortal  steeds  of  light  to  his  deceitful  hands? 

No  longer  now  obedient  to  thy  will,  thou  art  compelled 

To  forge  the  curbs  of  iron  and  brass,  to  build  them  iron  mangers, 

To  feed  them  with  intoxication  from  the  wine-press  of  Luvah, 

Till  the  Divine  Vision  and  Fruition  is  quite  obliterated. 

They  call  thy  lions  to  the  field  of  blood.    They  rouse  thy  tigers 

Out  of  the  halls  of  justice,  till  their  dens  thy  windows  framed 

Golden  and  beautiful,  but  oh  how  unlike  those  sweet  fields  of  bliss 

Where  liberty  was  justice,  and  eternal  science  was  mercy." 

5 

[Urizen  wanders  through  a  dark,  chaotic  world,  the  realms  of  his 
brother  kings,  Luvah,  Tharmas,  and  Urthona.  These  chaotic  deserts  sym- 
bolize man's  mental  state  when  faith  and  imagination  no  longer  play  their 
proper  part  in  his  life.  In  one  of  these  regions  he  finds  Ore,  the  personifica- 
tion of  fierce  human  passion,  bound  down  on  the  rocks  like  a  Prometheus. 

25 


Here,  also,  as  reason,  he  struggles  with  sensuousness  (Tharmas)  and  with 
restless  energy  (Urthona).  In  the  midst  of  these  dark  wastes  Urizen 
builds  his  own  new  universe,  which,  like  all  creations  of  the  intellect  alone, 
is  impressive  but  cold  and  terrible  in  its  stony  indifference  to  emotion.] 

The  woes  of  Urizen  shut  up  in  the  deep  dens  of  Urthona. 

"Ah!  how  shall  Urizen  the  king  submit  to  this  dark  mansion? 

Ah!  how  is  this?    Once  on  the  heights  I  stretched  my  throne  sublime; 

The  mountains  of  Urizen,  once  of  silver,  where  the  sons  of  wisdom 

dwelt, 
And  on  whose  tops  the  virgins  sang,  are  rocks  of  desolation. 

My  fountains,  once  the  haunt  of  swans,  now  breed  the  scaly  tortoise, 
The  houses  of  my  harpers  are  become  a  haunt  of  crows, 
The  gardens  of  wisdom  are  become  a  field  of  horrid  graves, 
And  on  the  bones  I  drop  my  tears  and  water  them  in  vain. 

Once  how  I  walked  from  my  palace  in  gardens  of  delight ! 

The  sons  of  wisdom  stood  around,  the  harpers  followed  with  harps, 

Nine  virgins  clothed  in  light  composed  the  song  to  their  immortal 

voices, 
And  at  my  banquet  of  new  wine  my  head  was  crowned  with  joy. 

Then  in  my  ivory  pavilions  I  slumbered  in  the  noon 

And  walked  in  the  silent  night  among  sweet-smelling  flowers, 

Till  on  my  silver  bed  I  slept  and  sweet  dreams  round  me  hovered; 

But  now  my  land  is  darkened  and  my  wise  men  are  departed. 

My  songs  are  turned  to  cries  of  lamentation 
Heard  on  my  mountains,  and  deep  sighs  under  my  palace  roofs, 
Because  the  steeds  of  Urizen,  once  swifter  than  the  light, 
Were  kept  back  from  my  lord  and  from  his  chariot  of  mercies. 

O,  did  I  keep  the  horses  of  the  day  in  silver  pastures? 
O,  I  refused  the  Lord  of  Day  the  horses  of  his  Prince ! 
O,  did  I  close  my  treasuries  with  roofs  of  solid  stone 
And  darkened  all  my  palace  walls  with  envyings  and  hate  ? 

O,  fool !  to  think  that  I  could  hide  from  his  all-piercing  eyes 
The  gold  and  silver  and  costly  stones,  his  holy  workmanship ! 
O,  fool !  could  I  forget  the  light  that  filled  my  bright  spheres 
Was  a  reflection  of  his  face  who  called  me  from  the  deep ! 

I  well  remember,  for  I  heard  the  mild  and  holy  voice 
Saying,  'Light,  spring  up  and  shine,'  and  I  sprang  up  from  the  deep. 
He  gave  to  me  a  silver  sceptre  and  crowned  me  with  a  golden  crown, 
And  said,  'Go  forth  and  guide  my  son  who  wanders  on  the  ocean.' 

26 


I  went  not  forth,  I  hid  myself  in  black  clouds  of  my  wrath; 
I  called  the  stars  around  my  feet  in  the  night  of  councils  dark, 
The  stars  threw  down  their  spears  and  fled  naked  away. 
We  fell.     I  seized  thee,  dark  Urthona,  in  my  left  hand  falling. 

I  seized  thee,  beauteous  Luvah;  thou  art  faded  like  a  flower 

And  like  a  lily  thy  wife  Vala,  withered  by  [the]  winds. 

When  thou  didst  bear  the  golden  cup  at  the  immortal  tables, 

Thy  children  smote  their  fiery  wings,  crowned  with  the  gold  of  heaven. 

Thy  pure  feet  stept  on  the  steps  divine,  too  pure  for  other  feet, 
And  thy  fair  locks  shadowed  thine  eyes  from  this  divine  effulgence. 
And  thou  didst  keep  with  strong  Urthona  the  living  gates  of  heaven, 
But  now  thou  art  bowed  down  with  him,  even  to  the  gates  of  hell. 

Because  thou  gavest  Urizen  the  wine  of  the  Almighty 

For  steeds  of  light  that  they  might  run  in  the  golden  chariot  of  pride, 

I  gave  to  thee  the  steeds,  I  poured  the  stolen  wine, 

And  drunken  with  the  immortal  draught  fell  from  my  throne  sublime. 

I  will  arise,  explore  these  dens,  and  find  that  deep  pulsation 

That  shakes  my  cavern  with  strong  shudders.     Perhaps  this  is  the 

night 
Of  prophecy,  and  Luvah  hath  burst  his  way  from  Enitharmon." 

So  Urizen  arose,  leaning  on  his  spear  explored  his  dens. 
He  threw  his  flight  through  the  dark  air  to  where  a  river  flowed, 
And  taking  off  his  silver  helmet  filled  it  and  drank; 
But  when,  unsated  his  thirst,  he  assayed  to  gather  more, 
Lo,  three  terrific  women  at  the  verge  of  the  bright  flood, 
Who  would  not  suffer  him  to  approach  but  drove  him  back  with 
storm. 

Urizen  knew  them  not,  and  thus  addressed  the  spirits  of  darkness: 
"Who  art  thou,  eldest  woman,  wrapped  in  thy  clouds? 
What  is  that  name  written  on  thy  forehead?    What  art  thou? 
And  wherefore  dost  thou  pour  this  water  forth  in  sighs  and  care?" 
She  answered  not,  but  filled  her  urn  and  poured  it  forth  abroad. 

"Answer[est]  thou  not?"  said  Urizen.    "Then  thou  must  answer  me, 
Thou  terrible  woman  clad  in  blue,  whose  strong  attractive  power 
Draws  all  into  a  fountain  at  the  rock  of  thy  attraction, 
With  frowning  brow  thou  sittest,  mistress  of  these  mighty  waters." 
She  answered  not,  but  stretched  her  arms  and  threw  her  limbs  abroad. 

"Or  wilt  thou  answer,  youngest  woman,  clad  in  shining  green? 
With  labour  and  care  thou  dost  divide  the  current  into  four. 
Queen  of  these  dreadful  rivers,  speak,  and  let  me  hear  thy  voice." 

27 


Then  Urizen  raised  his  spear,  but  they  reared  up  a  wall  of  rock. 
They  gave    a   scream — they   knew   their   father;    Urizen   knew   his 

daughters. 

They  shrank  into  their  channels  dry, — the  strand  beneath  his  feet, — 
Hiding  themselves  in  rocky  forms  from  the  eyes  of  Urizen. 
Then  Urizen  wept,  and  thus  his  lamentations  poured  forth: 

UO,  horrible !    O,  dreadful  state !    Those  whom  I  loved  best, 
On  whom  I  poured  the  branches  of  my  light,  adorning  them 
With  jewels  and  jealous  ornament  laboured  with  art  divine, 
Vests  of  the  radiant  colours  of  heaven  and  crowns  of  golden  fire, — 
I  gave  sweet  lilies  to  their  breasts  and  roses  to  their  hair, 
I  taught  them  songs  of  sweet  delight,  I  gave  them  tender  voices 
•      Into  the  blue  expanse,  and  I  invented,  with  laborious  art, 

Sweet  instruments  of  sound.     In  pride  encompassing  my  knees 

They  poured  their  radiance  above  all.     The  Daughters  of  Luvah 

envied 
At  their  exceeding  brightness,  and  the  Sons  of  Eternity  sent  them  gifts. 

Now  will  I  pour  my  fury  on  them,  and  I  will  reverse 

The  precious  benediction.     For  their  colours  of  loveliness 

I   will    [give]    blackness;   for  jewelry,    hoary   frost;    for   ornament, 

deformity 

For  laboured  flattery,  care  and  sweet  instruction."  .    .    . 

On  his  way 
He  took,  high  sounding  over  hills  and  deserts,  floods  and  horrible 

chasms. 

Infinite  was  his  labour,  without  end  his  travel.     He  strove 
In  vain,  for  hideous  monsters  of  the  deep  annoyed  him  sore, — 
Scaled  and  finned  with  iron  and  brass,  they  devoured  the  path  before 

him. 

Incessant  was  the  conflict.    On  he  bent  his  weary  steps, 
Making  a  path  toward  the  dark  world  of  Urthona.     He  rose 
With  pain  upon  the  weary  mountains,  and  with  pain  descended, 
And  saw  their  grisly  fears,  and  his  eyes  sickened  at  the  sight, 
The  howlings,  gnashings,  groanings,  shriekings,  shudderings,  sobbings, 

burstings, 

Mingled  together,  to  create  a  world  for  Los.1    In  cruel  delight 
Los  brooded  on  the  darkness,  nor  saw  Urizen's  globe  of  fire 
Lighting  his  dismal  journey  through  the  pathless  world  of  death, 
Writing  in  bitter  tears  and  groans  in  books  of  iron  and  brass 
The  enormous  wonders  of  the  Abysses,  once  his  brightest  joy. 

For  Urizen  beheld  the  terrors  of  the  Abyss2  wandering  among 

1  Los  =  the  spirit  of  Time. 

2  The  next  thirty  or  forty  lines  may  represent  the  ideas  of  persecution,  renunciation,  and 
eternal  torment  evolved  in  religion  by  the  misguided  intellect. 

28 


The  ruined  spirits  once  his  children,  and  the  children  of  Luvah, 

Scared  at  the  sound  of  their  sigh  that  seemed  to  shake  the  immense. 

They  wander  moping,  in  their  heart  a  sun,  a  dreary  moon, 

An  universe  of  fiery  constellations  in  their  brain, 

An  earth  of  wintry  woe  beneath  their  feet,  and  round  their  loins 

Waters  or  winds,  or  clouds,  or  brooding  lightnings  and  pestilential 

plagues. 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  their  own  self  their  senses  cannot  penetrate. 
As  the  tree  knoweth  not  what  is  outside  its  leaves  and  bark, 
And  yet  it  drinks  the  summer  joy  and  fears  the  winter  sorrow; 
So  in  the  regions  of  the  grave  none  knows  his  dark  compeer 
Though  he  partakes  of  his  dire  woes,  and  mutual  returns  the  pang, 
The  throb,  the  dolour,  the  convulsion,  in  soul-sickening  woes; 
The  horrid  shapes  and  sights  of  torment  in  burning  dungeons  and  in 
Fetters  of  red-hot  iron,  some  with  crowns  of  serpents  and  some 
With  monsters  girding  round  their  bosoms;  some  lying  in  beds  of 

sulphur, 

On  racks  and  wheels.    He  beheld  women  marching  in  burning  wastes 
Of  sand  in  bands  of  hundreds,  and  of  fifties,  and  of  thousands,  stricken 

with 
Lightnings  which  blazed  after  them  upon  their  shoulders  in  their 

march, 

In  successive  volleys,  with  loud  thunder.    Swift  flew  the  king  of  light 
Over  the  burning  deserts.     Then  the  deserts  passed  in  clouds 
Of  smoke,  with  myriads  moping  in  the  stifling  vapours.     Swift 
Flew  the  king,  though  flagged  his  powers,  labouring,  till  over  rocks 
And  mountains,  faint,  weary,  he  wandered  where  multitudes  were  shut 
Up  in  the  solid  mountains,  and  in  rocks  heaved  with  their  torment. 
Then  came  he  among  fiery  cities  and  castles  built  of  burning  steel; 
There  he  beheld  the  forms  of  Tigers  and  of  Lions,  dishumanized  men, 
Many  in  serpents  and  in  worms  stretched  out  enormous  length 
Over  the  sullen  mould,  and  slimy  tracks  obstruct  his  way 
Drawn  out  from  deep  to  deep;  woven  and  ribbed 
And  scaled  monsters  or  armed  in  iron  shell,  or  shell  of  brass 
Or  gold,  a  glittering  torment  shining  and  hissing  in  eternal  pain. 
His  voice  to  them  was  but  an  inarticulate  thunder,  for  their  ears 
Were  heavy  and  dull  and  their  eyes  and  nostrils  closed  up. 
Oft  he  stood  by  a  howling  victim,  questioning  in  words 
Soothing  or  furious.    No  one  answered;  every  one  wrapped  up 
In  his  own  sorrow  howled  regardless  of  his  words,  nor  voice 
Or  sweet  response  could  he  obtain,  though  oft  assayed  with  tears. 
He  knew  they  were  his  children  ruined  in  his  ruined  world. 
Oft  would  he  stand  and  question  a  fierce  scorpion  glowing  with  gold 
In  vain;  the  terror  heard  not.    Then  a  lion  he  would  seize 
By  the  fierce  mane,  staying  his  howling  course;  in  vain  the  voice 


Of  Urizen,  in  vain  the  eloquent  tongue.    A  rock,  a  cloud,  a  mountain 

Were  now  not  vocal  as  in  climes  of  happy  eternity; 

Where  the  lamb  replies  to  the  infant's  voice  and  the  lion  to  the  wail 

of  ewes, 
Giving  them  sweet  instructions,  when  the  cloud,  the  furrows  and  the 

field 
Talk  with  the  husbandman  and  shepherd.     But  these  attacked  him 

sore, 

Seizing  upon  his  feet,  and  rending  the  sinews,  that  in  caves 
He  had  to  revive  his  obstructed  power  with  rest  and  oblivion. 

Then  he  had  time  enough  to  repent  of  his  rashly  threatened  curse. 
He  saw  them  accursed  beyond  his  curse;  his  soul  melted  with  fear. 
He  could  not  take  their  fetters  off,  for  they  grew  to  the  soul, 
Nor  could  he  quench  the  fires,  for  they  flamed  out  of  the  heart. 
Nor  could  he  calm  the  elements,  because  himself  was  subject, 
So  he  threw  his  flight  in  terror  and  pain,  and  in  repentant  tears. 

When  he  had  passed  the  Southern  terrors  he  approached  the  East, 
Void,  pathless,  beaten  with  eternal  sleet,  and  eternal  hail  and  rain. 
No  form  was  there,  no  living  thing,  and  yet  his  way  lay  through 
This  dismal  world.    He  stood  awhile  and  looked  back  over  his  former 
Terrific  voyages — hills  and  dales  of  torment  and  despair — 
Sighing,  and  weeping  a  fresh  tear.    Then  turning  round  he  threw 
Himself  into  the  dismal  void.     Falling  he  fell  and  fell, 
Whirling  in  unresistible  revolutions  down  and  down 
In  the  horrid  bottomless  vacuity,  falling,  falling,  falling, 
Into  the  Eastern  vacuity,  the  empty  world  of  Luvah. 

The  Ever-pitying  One  who  seeth  all  things,  saw  his  fall, 

And  in  the  dark  vacuity  created  a  bosom  of  clay. 

When  wearied — dead — he  fell,  his  limbs  reposed  in  the  bosom  of 

slime. 

As  the  seed  falls  from  the  sower's  hand,  so  Urizen  fell,  and  death 
Shut  up  his  powers  in  oblivion.    Then  as  the  seed  shoots  forth 
In  pain  and  sorrow,  so  the  slimy  bed  his  limbs  renewed. 
At  first  an  infant-weakness  period  passed.     He  gathered  strength, 
But  still  in  solitude  he  sat;  then  rising,  threw  his  flight 
Onward,  though  falling,  through  the  waste  of  night  and  ending  in 

death, 

And  in  another  resurrection  to  sorrow  and  weary  travail. 
But  still  his  books  he  bore  in  his  strong  hands,  and  his  iron  pen, 
For  when  he  died  they  lay  beside  his  grave,  and  when  he  rose 
He  seized  them  with  a  gloomy  smile,  for  wrapped  in  his  death-clothes 
He  hid  them  when  he  slept  in  death.    When  he  revived  the  clothes 
Were  rolled  by  the  winds;  the  clothes  remained  still  unconsumed, 

30 


Still  to  be  written  and  interleaved  with  brass  and  iron  and  gold, 

Time  after  time,  for  such  a  journey  none  but  iron  pens 

Can  write,  and  adamantine  leaves  receive,  nor  can  the  man  who  goes 

The  journey  obstinate  refuse  to  write,  time  after  time. 

Endless  had  been  his  travail,  but  the  Divine  Hand  him  led, 

For  infinite  the  distance  and  obscured  by  combustion  dire. 

By  rocky  masses  frowning  in  the  abyss  revolving  erratic, 

Round  lakes  of  fire  in  this  dark  deep,  the  ruins  of  Urizen's  world. 

Oft  would  he  sit  in  a  dark  rift  and  regulate  his  books, 

Or  sleep  such  sleep  as  spirits  eternal  wearied  in  the  dark, 

Tearful,  and  sorrowful,  taste;  then  rise,  look  out  and  ponder 

His  dismal  voyage,  eying  the  next  sphere  though  far  remote, 

Then  darting  into  the  abyss  of  night  his  venturous  limbs 

Through  lightnings,  thunders,  earthquakes  and  confusion,  fires  and 

floods, 

Stemming  his  downward  fate,  labouring  up  against  futurity, 
Creating  many  a  vortex,  fixing  many  a  science  in  the  deep, 
And  thence  throwing  his  venturous  limbs  into  the  vast  unknown. 

But  Urizen  said:  "Can  I  not  leave  this  world  of  cumbrous  wheels, 

Circle  over  circle,  nor  on  high  attain  a  void 

Where  self-sustaining  I  may  view  all  things  beneath  my  feet? 

O,  what  a  world  is  here,  and  how  unlike  those  climes  of  bliss 

Where  my  sons  gathered  round  my  knees !     O,  thou  poor  ruined 

world, 

Thou  horrible  ruin !     Once,  like  me,  thou  wast  all  glorious, 
And  now,  like  me,  partaking  desolate  thy  master's  lot. 
Art  thou,  O  ruin,  the  once  glorious  heaven  on  these  thy  rocks 
Where  joy  sang  on  the  trees  and  pleasure  sported  in  the  rivers, 
And  laughter  sat  beneath  the  oaks,  and  innocence  sported  round 
Upon  the  green  plains,  and  sweet  friendship  met  in  palaces, 
And  books  and  instruments  of  song  and  pictures  of  delight? 
Where  are  they?    Whelmed  beneath  these  ruins,  in  horrible  destruc- 
tion. 

And  if,  eternal-falling,  I  repose  on  the  dark  bosom 
Of  winds  and  waters,  or  thence  fall  into  the  void  where  air 
Is  not,  downfalling  through  immensity  ever  and  ever, 
How  my  powers  weakened  every  revolution,  till  a  death 
Shut  up  my  powers;  then  a  seed  in  the  vast  womb  of  darkness, 
I  dwell  in  dim  oblivion  brooding.    Over  me,  the  enormous  worlds 
Reorganize  in  shooting  forth,  in  bones  and  flesh  and  blood. 
I  am  regenerate,  to  fall,  or  rise,  at  will,  or  to  remain 
A  labourer  of  ages,  a  dire  discontent,  a  living  awe 
Wandering  in  vain.     Here  will  I  fix  my  foot  and  here  re-build. 
These  mountains  of  brass  promise  much  riches  in  their  deepest  bosom." 

31 


So  saying,  he  began  to  form  of  gold,  silver  and  iron 

And  brass,  vast  instruments  to  measure  out  the  immense  and  fix 

The  whole  into  another  world  better,  and  made  to  obey 

His  will,  where  none  should  dare  oppose  his  will,  himself  being  king 

Of  all,  and  all  futurity  he  bound  in  his  vast  chain. 

And  the  sciences  were  fixed  and  the  vortexes  began  to  operate 

On  all  the  sons  of  men;  and  every  human  soul  terrified 

At  the  living  wheels  of  heaven  shrunk  inward,  withering  away. 

For  Urizen  lamented  over  them  in  a  selfish  lamentation 

Till  a  white  woof  covered  his  limbs  from  head  to  foot, 

Hair  white  as  snow  covered  him  in  flaky  locks  terrific, 

Overspreading  his  limbs.     In  pride  he  wandered  weeping 

Clothed  in  an  aged  venerableness,  obstinately  resolved, 

Travelling  through  darkness,  and  wherever  he  travelled  a  dire  web 

Followed  behind  him,  as  the  web  of  a  spider  dusky  and  cold, 

Shivering  across  vortex  to  vortex,  drawn  out  from  his  mantle  of  years, 

A  living  mantle  adjoined  to  his  life  and  growing  from  his  soul; 

And  the  web  of  Urizen  stretched,  direful,  shivering,  as  clouds, 

And  uttering  such  woes,  and  bursting  [with]  such  thunderings. 

And  now  he  came  into  the  abhorred  world  of  dark  Urthona, 
Into  the  doleful  vales  where  no  tree  grew  or  river  flowed, 
No  man  nor  beast  nor  creeping  thing,  nor  sun  nor  cloud  nor  star, 
Till  he  with  his  globe  of  fire  immense,  held  in  his  venturous  hand, 
Bore  on  through  the  affrighted  vales,  ascending  and  descending; 
O'erwearied  and  in  cumbrous  flight  he  ventured  o'er  dark  rifts, 
Or  down  dark  precipices,  or  climbed  with  pain  and  labour  high, 
Till  he  beheld  the  world  of  Los  from  the  peaked  rock  of  Urthona, 
And  heard  the  howling  of  red  Ore  distincter  and  distincter. 

Redoubling  his  immortal  effort,  through  the  narrow  vales 

With  difficulty  down  descending,  guided  by  his  ear 

And  by  his  globe  of  fire,  he  went  down  the  vale  of  Urthona 

Between  the  enormous  iron  walls  built  by  the  Spectre;  dark, 

Dark  grew  his  globe  reddening  with  mists,  and  full  before  his  path, 

Standing  across  the  narrow  vale  the  shadow  of  Urthona 

A  spectre  vast  appeared,  whose  legs  and  feet,  with  iron  scaled, 

Stamped  the  hard  rocks  expectant  of  the  unknown  wanderer 

Whom  he  had  seen  wandering  his  nether  world  when  distant  far, 

And  watched  his  swift  approach.    Collected,  dark,  the  spectre  stood. 

Beside  him  Tharmas  stayed  his  flight  and  stood  with  stern  defiance, 

Communing  with  the  spectre  who  rejoiced  along  the  vale. 

Around  his  loins  a  girdle  glowed  with  many  coloured  fires, 

And  in  his  hand  a  knotted  club  whose  knots  like  mountains  frowned, 

Desert  among  the  stars  there  withering  with  its  ridges  cold. 

32 


Black  scales  of  iron  arm  the  dread  image.     Iron  spikes  instead 
Of  hair  shoot  from  his  orbed  skull;  his  glowing  eyes 
Burned  like  two  furnaces.     He  called  with  voice  of  thunder; 
Four  winged  heralds  mount  the  furious  blast  and  blow  their  trumps; 
Gold,  silver,  brass,  and  iron  clangours,  clamouring,  rend  the  shore. 
Like  white  clouds  rising  from  the  vales,  his  fifty-two  armies 
From  the  four  cliffs  of  Urthona  rise  glowing  around  the  spectre. 
Four  sons  of  Urizen  the  squadrons  of  Urthona  led,  in  arms 
Of  gold  and  silver,  brass  and  iron;  he  knew  his  mighty  sons. 

Then  Urizen  arose  upon  the  wind,  back  many  a  mile, 

Returning  into  his  dire  web,  scattering  fleecy  snows 

As  he  ascended  howling.    Loud  the  net  vibrated  strong. 

From  heaven  to  heaven  and  globe  to  globe  its  vast  eccentric  paths, 

Compulsive  rolled  the  comets  at  his  dread  command  the  dreary  way, 

Falling  with  wheel  impetuous  down  among  Urthona's  vales 

And  round  red  Ore,  returning  back  to  Urizen,  gorged  with  blood. 

Slow  roll  the  massy  globes  at  his  command,  and  slow  o'erwheel, 

The  dismal  squadrons  of  Urthona  weaving  the  dire  web 

In  this  progression,  and  preparing  Urthona's  path  before  him. 

Then  Urizen  rose.     The  spectre  fled,  and  Tharmas  fled; 
The  darkening  spectre  of  Urthona  hid  beneath  a  rock. 
Tharmas  threw  his  impetuous  flight  through  the  deeps  of  immensity 
Revolving  round  in  whirlpools  fierce  all  round  the  caverned  worlds. 

Urizen,  silent,  descended  to  the  caves  of  Ore,  and  saw 
A  caverned  universe  of  flaming  fire.    The  horses  of  Urizen 
Here  bound  to  fiery  mangers,  furious  dash  their  golden  hoofs, 
Striking  fierce  sparkles  from  their  golden  fetters.     Fierce  his  lions 
Howl  in  the  burning  dens;  his  tigers  roam  on  the  redounding  smoke 
In  forests  of  affliction.    The  adamantine  scales  of  justice 
Consuming  in  the  raging  lamps  of  mercy,  poured  in  rivers 
The  holy  oil  rages  through  all  the  caverned  rocks.     Fierce  flames 
Dance  on  the  rivers  and  the  rocks,  howling  and  drunk  with  fury. 
The  plough  of  ages  and  the  golden  harrow  wade  through  fields 
Of  gory  blood.    The  immortal  seed  is  nourished  for  the  slaughter. 
The  bulls  of  Luvah,  breathing  fire,  bellow  on  burning  pastures 
Around  howling  Ore,  whose  awful  limbs  cast  forth  red  smoke  and  fire, 
That  Urizen  approached  not  near  but  took  his  seat  on  a  rock 
And  ranged  his  books  around  him,  brooding  envious  over  Ore. 

Howling  and  rending  his  dark  caves  the  awful  demon  lay. 
Pulse  after  pulse  beat  on  his  fetters,  pulse  after  pulse  his  spirit 
Dashed  and  dashed  higher  and  higher  to  the  shrine  of  Enitharmon, 
As  when  the  thunder  folds  himself  in  thickest  clouds, 

33 


The  watery  nations  couch  and  hide  in  the  profoundest  deeps, 
Then  bursting  from  his  troubled  head,  with  terrible  visages  and  flam- 
ing hair, 
His  swift-winged  daughters  sweep  across  the  vast  blue  ocean. 

Los  felt  the  envy  in  his  limbs,  like  to  a  blighted  tree ; 

For  Urizen  fixed  in  envy  sat  brooding  and  covered  with  snow, 

His  book  of  iron  on  his  knees.     He  traced  the  dreadful  letters 

While  his  snows  fell  and  his  storms  beat  to  cool  the  flames  of  Ore, 

Age  after  age,  till  underneath  his  heel  a  deadly  root 

Struck  through  the  rock, — the  root  of  Mystery,  accursed,  shooting  up 

Branches  into  the  heaven  of  Los,  then  pipe-formed  bending  down 

Take  root  again  wherever  they  touch,  again  branching  forth 

In  intricate  labyrinths  overspreading  many  a  grisly  deep. 

Amazed  started  Urizen,  when  he  found  himself  compassed  round 
And  high  roofed  over  with  the  trees.    He  arose,  but  now  the  stems 
Stood  so  thick,  he  with  difficulty  and  with  great  pain  brought 
His  books  out  of  the  dismal  shade, — all  but  the  book  of  iron. 

Again  he  took  his  seat,  he  ranged  his  books  around 
On  a  rock  of  iron  frowning  over  the  foaming  fires  of  Ore. 
And  Urizen  hung  over  Ore  and  viewed  his  terrible  wrath, 
Sitting  upon  an  iron  crag.     At  length  his  words  broke  forth : 

"Image  of  dread,  whence  art  thou  ?    Whence  is  thy  most  woeful  place  ? 
Whence  these  fierce  fires,  but  from  thyself?    No  other  living  thing 
In  all  the  chasm  I  behold.     No  other  living  thing 
Dare  thy  most  terrible  wrath  abide,  bound  here  to  waste  in  pain 
Thy  vital  substance  in  these  fires  that  issue  new  and  new 
Around  thee.     Sometimes  like  a  flood,  and  sometimes  like  a  rock 
Of  living  pangs,  thy  horrible  bed  glowing  with  ceaseless  fires 
Beneath  thee  and  around.    Above,  a  shower  of  fire  now  beats 
Moulded  to  globes  and  arrowy  wedges,  rending  thy  bleeding  limbs; 
And  now  a  whirling  pillar  of  burning  sand  to  overwhelm  thee, 
Steeping  thy  wounds  in  salts  infernal  and  in  bitter  anguish. 
And  now  a  rock  moves  on  the  surface  of  this  lake  of  fire 
To  bear  thee  down  beneath  the  waves  in  stifling  despair. 
Pity  for  thee  moved  me  to  break  my  dark  and  long  repose, 
And  to  reveal  myself  before  thee  in  a  form  of  wisdom. 
Yet  thou  dost  laugh  at  all  these  tortures,  and  this  horrible  place, 
Yet  throw [est]  these  fires  abroad,  that  back  return  upon  thee, 
While  thou  reposest,  throwing  rage  on  rage,  feeding  thyself 
With  visions  of  sweet  bliss  far  other  than  this  burning  clime. 
Sure  thou  art  bathed  in  rivers  of  delight  on  verdant  fields, 
Walking  in  joy  in  bright  expanses,  sleeping  on  bright  clouds, 

34 


With  visions  of  delight  so  lovely  that  they  urge  thy  rage 
Tenfold  with  fierce  desire  to  rend  thy  chains  and  howl  in  fury, 
And  dire  oblivion  of  all  woe  and  desperate  repose, — 
Or  is  thy  joy  founded  on  torment  that  others  bear  for  thee?" 

Ore  answered:  "Curse  thy  hoary  brows,  what  dost  thou  in  this  deep? 

Thy  pity  I  contemn.     Scatter  thy  snows  elsewhere. 

I  rage  in  the  deep,  for  lo,  my  feet  and  hands  are  nailed  to  the  burning 

rock, 

Yet  my  fierce  fires  are  better  than  thy  snows.    Shuddering  thou  sitt'st. 
Thou  art  not  chained.    Why  shouldst  thou  sit,  cold,  grovelling  demon 

of  woe, 

In  torture  of  dire  coldness?    Now  a  lake  of  water  deep 
Sweeps  over  thee,  freezing  to  solid.    Still  thou  sitt'st,  closed  up 
In  that  transparent  rock  as  if  in  joy  of  thy  bright  prison, 
Till,  overburdened,  with  its  own  weight,  down  through  immensity, 
With  a  crash  breaking  across,  the  horrible  mass  comes  down, 
ThunHering;  and  hail  and  frozen  iron  hailed  from  the  element, 
Rend  thy  white  hair.    Yet  thou  dost,  fixed,  obdurate,  brooding,  sit 
Writing  thy  books.    Anon  a  cloud,  filled  with  a  waste  of  snow, 
Covers  thee.     Still  obdurate,  still  resolved,  and  writing  still, 
Though  rocks  roll  o'er  thee,  though  floods  pour,  though  winds  black 

as  the  sea 

Cut  thee  in  gashes,  though  the  blood  pour  down  around  thy  ancles, 
Freezing  thy  feet  to  the  hard  rock !     Still  thy  pen  obdurate 
Traces  the  wonders  of  Futurity  in  horrible  fear  of  the  future. 
I  rage  furious  in  the  deep;  for  lo,  my  feet  and  hands  are  nailed 
To  the  hard  rock,  or  thou  shouldst  feel  my  enmity  and  hate 
In  all  the  diseases  of  man  falling  upon  thy  grey  accursed  front." 

Urizen  answered:  "Read  my  books,  explore  my  constellations, 
Enquire  of  my  sons  and  they  shall  teach  thee  how  to  war. 
Enquire  of  my  daughters,  who,  accursed  in  the  dark  deeps, 
Knead  bread  of  sorrow  by  my  stern  command,  for  I  am  god 
Of  all  this  dreadful  ruin.    Rise,  O  daughters,  at  my  stern  command." 

Rending  the  rocks,  Eleth  and  Uvith  rose,  and  Ona  rose, 
Terrific  with  their  iron  vessels,  driving  them  across 
In  the  dim  air.    They  locked  the  book  of  iron,  and  placed  above 
On  clouds  of  death,  and  sang  their  songs,  kneading  the  bread  of  Ore. 

Ore  listened  to  the  song,  compelled,  hungering  on  the  cold  wind 
That  swagged  heavy  with  the  accursed  dough.    The  hoar  frost  raged 
Through  Ona's  sieve.    The  torrent  rain  poured  from  the  iron  pail 
Of  Eleth,  and  the  icy  hands  of  Uvith  kneaded  the  bread. 

35 


The  heavens  bow  with  terror  underneath  these  iron  hands, 
Singing  at  their  dire  work  the  words  of  Urizen's  book  of  iron, 
While  the  enormous  scrolls  rolled  dreadful  in  the  heavens  above; 
And  still  the  burden  of  their  song  in  tears  was  poured  forth: 
"The  bread  is  kneaded,  let  us  rest,  O  cruel  father  of  children!" 

But  Urizen  remitted  not  their  labours  upon  his  rock, 
And  Urizen  read  in  his  book  of  brass  in  sounding  tones: 
"Listen,  O  daughters,  to  my  voice;  listen  to  the  words  of  wisdom. 
Compel  the  Poor  to  live  upon  a  crust  of  bread  by  soft,  mild  arts; 
So  shall  [you]  govern  over  all.    Let  moral  duty  tune  your  tongue, 
But  be  your  hearts  harder  than  the  nether  millstone." 


[Freed  from  the  chaotic  darkness,  Urizen  now  builds  on  a  vaster  plan, 
but  still  with  the  same  cruel  and  fatal  lack  of  emotion.] 

Then  were  the  furnaces  unsealed  with  spades  and  pickaxes, 

Roaring  let  out  the  fluid.     The  molten  metal  ran  in  channels 

Cut  by  the  plough  of  ages,  held  in  Urizen's  strong  hand 

In  many  a  valley,  for  the  bulls  of  Luvah  dragged  the  plough. 

With  trembling  horror,  pale,  aghast,  the  children  of  Man 

Stood  on  the  infinite  earth  and  saw  these  visions  in  the  air, 

In  waters,  and  in  earth  beneath.     They  cried  to  one  another, 

"What,  are  we  terrors  to  one  another?    Come,  O  brethren,  wherefore 

Was  this  wide  earth  spread  all  abroad?    Not  for  wild  beasts  to  roam." 

But  many  stood  silent,  and  busied  in  their  families. 

And  many  said,  "We  see  no  visions  in  the  darkened  air. 

Measure  the  course  of  that  sulphur  orb  that  lights  the  darksome  day. 

Set  stations  on  the  breeding  earth  and  let  us  buy  and  sell." 

Others  arose,  and  schools  erected,  forming  instruments 

To  measure  out  the  course  of  heaven.     Stern  Urizen  beheld 

In  woe  his  brethren  and  his  sons  in  darkening  woe  lamenting 

Upon  the  winds  in  clouds  involved;  uttering  his  voice  in  thunder, 

Commanding  all  the  work  with  care  and  power  and  severity. 

Then  seized  the  lions  of  Urizen  their  work,  and  heated  in  the  forge 
Roar  the  bright  masses.     Thundering  beat  the  hammers.     Many  a 

pyramid 

Is  formed  and  thrown  down  thundering  into  the  deeps  of  nonentity. 
Heated  red-hot  they,  hissing,  rend  their  way  down  many  a  league 
Till  resting  each  his  center  finds.     Suspended  there  they  stand 
Casting  their  sparkles  dire  abroad  into  the  dismal  deep. 
For,  measured  out  in  ordered  spaces,  the  sons  of  Urizen 

36 


With  compasses  divide  the  deep.    They  the  strong  scales  erect 
That  Luvah  rent  from  the  faint  heart  of  the  Fallen  Man, 
And  weigh  the  massy  cubes,  then  fix  them  in  their  awful  stations. 

And  all  the  time  in  caverns  shut  the  golden  looms  erected, 
First  span,  then  wove  the  atmospheres.    Then  the  spider  and  worm 
Plied  the  winged  shuttle,  piping  shrill  through  all  the  listening  threads, 
Beneath  the  caverns  roll  the  weights  of  lead  and  spindles  of  iron, 
The  enormous  warp  and  woof  rage  direful  on  the  affrighted  deep. 

While  far  into  the  vast  unknown  the  strong-winged  eagles  bend 
Their  venturous  flight  in  human  forms  distinct  through  darkness  deep. 
Their  bear  the  woven  draperies.    On  golden  hooks  they  hang  abroad 
The  universal  curtains,  and  spread  out  from  sun  to  sun 
The  vehicles  of  light.     They  separate  the  furious  particles 
Into  mild  currents  as  the  water  mingles  with  the  wine. 

While  thus  the  spirits  of  strongest  wing  enlighten  the  dark  deep, 
The  threads  are  spun  and  the  cords  twisted  and  drawn  out.     Then 

the  weak 

Begin  their  work  and  many  a  net  is  netted,  many  a  net 
Spread,  and  many  a  spirit  caught;  innumerable  the  nets, 
Innumerable  the  gins  and  traps,  and  many  a  soothing  flute 
Is  formed,  and  many  a  corded  lyre  outspread  over  the  immense. 
In  cruel  delight  they  trap  the  listeners,  and  in  cruel  delight 
Bind  them,  condensing  the  strong  energies  into  little  compass. 
Some  became  seed  of  every  plant  that  shall  be  planted;  some 
The  bulbous  roots  thrown  up  together  into  barns  and  garners. 

Then  rose  the  builders.     First  the  Architect  divine  his  plan 
Unfolds,  and  the  wondrous  scaffold  reared  all  round  the  infinite. 
Quadrangular  the  building  rose,  the  heavens  squared  by  a  line, 
Trigons  and  cubes  divide  the  elements  in  finite  bonds. 
Multitudes  without  number  work  incessant,  the  hewn  stone 
Is  placed  in  beds  of  mortar  mingled  with  the  ashes  of  Vala. 
Severe  the  labour.     Female  slaves  the  mortar  trod  oppressed. 

Twelve  halls  after  the  names  of  his  twelve  sons  composed 
The  wondrous  building,  and  three  central  domes  after  the  names 
Of  his  three  daughters  were  encompassed  by  the  twelve  bright  halls; 
Every  hall  surrounded  by  a  bright  paradise  of  delight, 
In  which  were  towns  and  cities,  nations,  seas,  mountains  and  rivers. 
Each  dome  opened  towards  four  halls,  and  the  three  domes  encom- 
passed 

The  Golden  Hall  of  Urizen,  whose  western  side  glowed  bright 
With  ever-streaming  fires  beaming  from  his  awful  limbs. 

37 


His  Shadowy  Feminine  Semblance  here  reposed  on  a  white  couch, 

Or  hovered  over  his  starry  head,  and  when  he  smiled  she  brightened 

Like  a  bright  cloud  in  harvest;  but  when  Urizen  frowned  she  wept 

In  mists  over  his  carved  throne.    And  when  he  turned  his  back 

Upon  his  golden  hall  and  sought  the  labyrinthine  porches 

Of  his  wide  heaven,  trembling,  cold,  in  palsy  fears  she  sat 

A  shadow  of  despair.    Therefore  toward  the  west  Urizen  formed 

A  recess  in  the  wall  for  fires  to  glow  upon  the  pale 

Female,  lonely  in  his  absence,  and  her  daughters  oft  upon 

A  golden  altar  burned  perfumes  with  art  celestial  formed 

Foursquare,  sculptured  and  sweetly  engraved  to  please  their  shadowy 

mother. 

Ascending  into  her  misty  garments  the  blue  smoke  rolled  to  revive 
Her  cold  limbs  in  the  absence  of  her  lord.     Also  her  sons 
With  lives  of  victims  sacrificed  upon  an  altar  of  brass, 
On  the  East  side  revived  her  soul  with  lives  of  beasts  and  birds 
Slain  on  the  altar,  up  ascending  into  her  cloudy  bosom : — 
Of  terrible  workmanship  the  altar,  labour  of  ten  thousand  slaves, 
One  thousand  men  of  wondrous  power  spent  their  lives  in  its  forma- 
tion. 

It  stood  on  twelve  steps  named  after  her  twelve  sons, 
And  was  erected  at  the  chief  entrance  of  Urizen's  hall. 

When  Urizen  returned  from  his  immense  labours  and  travels, 
Descending  she  reposed  beside  him,  folding  him  around 
In  her  bright  skirts.     Astonished  and  confounded  he  beheld 
Her  shadowy  form  now  separate.    He  shuddered  and  was  silent. 
Till  her  caresses  and  her  tears  revived  him  to  life  and  joy. 

But  infinitely  beautiful  the  wondrous  work  arose 

In  sorrow  and  care,  a  golden  world  whose  porches  round  the  heaven, 

And  pillar'd  halls  and  rooms  received  the  eternal  wandering  stars. 

A  wondrous  golden  building,  many  a  window,  many  a  door, 

And  many  a  division  let  in  and  out  the  vast  unknown, 

In  infinite  orb  immovable,  within  its  walls  and  ceilings. 

The  heavens  were  closed,  and  spirits  mourned  their  bondage  night 

and  day, 
And  the  Divine  Vision  appeared  in  Luvah's  robes  of  blood. 

Thus  was  the  Mundane  shell  builded  by  Urizen's  strong  power. 
Sorrowing  went  the  planters  forth  to  plant,  the  sower  to  sow; 
They  dry  the  channels  for  the  rivers,  they  poured  abroad  the  seas, 
The  seas  and  lakes.     They  reared  the  mountains  and  the  rocks  and 

hills 

On  broad  pavilions,  on  pillar'd  roofs  and  porches  and  high  towers, 
In  beauteous  order.    Thence  arose  soft  clouds  and  exhalations 

38 


Wandering  even  to  the  sunny  orbs  of  light  and  heat, 
For  many  a  window  ornamented  with  sweet  ornaments 
Looked  out  into  the  world  of  Tharmas,  where  in  ceaseless  torrents 
His  billows  roll,  where  monsters  wander  in  the  foamy  paths. 

On  clouds  the  sons  of  Urizen  beheld  heaven  walled  round; 
They  weighed  and  ordered  all,  and  Urizen  comforted  saw 
The  wondrous  work  flow  forth  like  visible  out  of  the  invisible, 
For  the  Divine  Lamb,  even  Jesus  who  is  the  Divine  Vision, 
Permitted  all,  lest  Man  should  fall  into  Eternal  Death.   .    .    . 

In  awful  pomp  and  gold,  in  all  the  precious  unhewn  stones  of  Eden 
They  build  a  stupendous  Building  on  the  Plain  of  Salisbury,  with 

chains 

Of  rocks  round  London  Stone;  of  Reasonings;  of  unhewn  Demonstra- 
tions 

In  labyrinthine  arches  (Mighty  Urizen  the  Architect),  through  which 
The  Heavens  might  revolve  and  Eternity  be  bound  in  their  chain. 
Labour  unparallell'd !  a  wondrous  rocky  World  of  cruel  destiny, 
Rocks  piled  on  rocks  reaching  the  stars;  stretching  from  pole  to  pole. 
The  Building  is  Natural  Religion,1  and  its  Altars  Natural  Morality, 
A  building  of  eternal  death,  whose  proportions  are  eternal  despair. 


[Blake  entitled  this  part  of  Vala  " The  Last  Day,"  by  which  he  seems 
to  mean,  not  our  usual  conception  of  the  Last  Day,  but  some  great  hour  of 
intellectual  and  social  revolution.  Urizen  now  appears  as  a  stern,  but  on 
the  whole  a  beneficent  power,  sowing  new  moods  of  thought  under  the 
symbolism  of  human  souls.  The  "Mystery"  under  which  the  pseudo-priest 
and  pseudo-philosopher  held  earth  in  chains  has  vanished;  and  the  reign 
of  freedom  and  imagination  begins.~\ 

One  planet  calls  to  another  and  one  star  inquires  of  another: 
"What  flames  are  these,  coming  from  the  south?    What  noise,  what 

dreadful  rout 

As  of  a  battle  in  the  heavens  ?    Hark !    Heard  you  not  the  trumpet 
As  of  fierce  battle?"     While  they  spoke,  the  flames  come  on  intense 

roaring. 

They  see  him  whom  they  have  pierced,  they  wail  because  of  him. 
And  the  Fallen  Man  who  was  arisen  upon  the  rock  of  Ages, 
Beheld  the  visions  of  God,  and  he  arose  up  from  the  rock. 

1  Blake  expressly  identifies  "Natural  Religion"  with  eighteenth  century  Deism. 

39 


Then  seized  the  sons  of  Urizen  the  plough.    They  polished  it 
From  rust  of  ages.    All  its  ornaments  of  gold  and  silver  and  ivory 
Re-shone  across  the  field  immense  where  all  the  nations 
Darkened,  like  mould,  in  the  divided  fallows  where  the  weed 
Triumphs  in  its  own  destruction.    They  took  down  the  harness 
From  the  blue  walls  of  heaven,  starry,  jingling,  ornamented 
With    beautiful    art, — the    study    of    Angels,    the    workmanship    of 

Demons, — 

When  Heaven  and  Hell  in  emulation  strove  in  sports  of  glory. 
The  noise  of  rural  works  resounded  through  the  heavens  of  heavens. 
The  horse [s]  neigh  from  the  battle,  the  wild  bulls  from  the  sultry 

waste, 

The  tigers  from  the  forests,  the  lions  from  the  sandy  deserts. 
They  sing;  they  seize  the  instruments  of  harmony;  they  throw  away 
The  spear,  the  bow,  the  gun,  the  mortar;  they  level  the  fortifications; 
They  beat  the  iron  engines  of  destruction  into  wedges; 
They  give  them  to  Urthona's  sons.     Ringing  the  hammers  sound 
In  dens  of  death  to  forge  the  spade,  the  mattock,  and  the  axe, 
The  heavy  roller  to  break  the  clods, — to  pass  over  the  nations. 

The  Sons  of  Urizen  shout;  their  father  rose.    The  Eternal  horses 
Harnessed,  they  call  to  Urizen.    The  heavens  move  at  their  call. 
The  limbs  of  Urizen  shone  with  ardour.     He  laid  his  hand  on  the 

plough. 

Through  dismal  darkness  drove  the  plough  of  ages  over  cities 
And  all  their  villages;  over  mountains,  and  all  their  valleys; 
Over  the  graves  and  caverns  of  the  dead,  over  the  planets, 
And  over  the  void  spaces;  over  sun  and  moon,  and  star  and  constel- 
lation. 

Then  Urizen  commanded  and  they  brought  the  seed  of  Men. 
The  trembling  souls  of  all  the  dead  stood  before  Urizen, 
Weak,  wailing  in  the  troubled  air,  East,  West,  and  North  and  South. 
He  turned  the  horses  loose  and  laid  the  plough  in  the  northern  corner 
Of  the  wide  universal  field,  then  stepped  forth  into  the  immense. 
Then  he  began  to  sow  the  seed.    He  girded  round  his  loins 
With  a  bright  girdle,  and  his  skirt,  filled  with  immortal  souls. 
Howling  and  wailing  fly  the  souls  from  Urizen's  strong  hand, 
For  from  the  hand  of  Urizen  the  myriads  fall  like  stars 
Into  their  own  appointed  places,  driven  back  by  the  winds. 
The  naked  warriors  rush  together  down  to  the  seashore. 
They  are  become  like  wintry  flocks,  like  forests  stripped  of  leaves; 
The  kings  and  princes  of  the  earth  cry  with  a  feeble  cry, 
Driven  on  the  unproducing  sands,  and  on  the  hardened  rocks. 

40 


And  all  the  while  the  flames  of  Ore  follow  the  venturous  feet 

Of  Urizen,  and  all  the  while  the  trump  of  Tharmas  sounds. 

Weeping  and  wailing  fly  the  souls  from  Urizen's  strong  hands. 

The  daughters  of  Urizen  stand  with  cups  and  measures  of  strong  wine 

Immense  upon  the  heavens  with  bread  and  delicate  repasts. 

Then  follows  the  golden  harrow  in  the  midst  of  mental  fires, 

To  ravishing  melody  of  flutes,  and  harps,  and  softest  voice. 

The  seed  is  harrowed  in  while  flames  heal  the  black  mould  and  cause 

The  human  harvest  to  begin.    Toward  the  south  first  sprang 

The  myriads,  and  in  silent  fear  they  look  out  of  their  graves. 

Then  Urizen  sits  down  to  rest,  and  all  his  wearied  sons 

Take  their  repose  on  beds.    They  drink,  they  sing,  they  view  the  flames 

Of  Ore.     In  joy  they  view  the  human  harvest  springing  up. 

A  time  they  give  to  sweet  repose,  till  all  the  harvest  is  ripe. 

And  lo !  like  harvest  moon,  Ahania  cast  off  her  dark  clothes — 

She  folded  them  up  in  care,  in  silence,  and  her  brightening  limbs 

Bathed  in  the  clear  spring  of  the  rock;  then  from  her  darksome  cave 

Issued  in  majesty  divine.    Urizen  rose  up  from  his  couch 

On  wings  of  tenfold  joy,  clapping  his  hands,  his  feet,  his  radiant  wings 

In  the  immense.    As  when  the  sun  dances  upon  the  mountains 

A  shout  of  jubilee  in  lovely  notes  responds  from  daughter  to  daughter, 

From  son  to  son,  as  if  the  stars  beaming  innumerable 

Through  night,  should  sing  soft  warbling,  filling  earth  and  heaven. 

And  bright  Ahania  took  her  seat  by  Urizen  in  songs  and  joy.  .   .   . 

Then  Urizen  arose  and  took  his  sickle  in  his  hand. 

There  is  a  brazen  sickle,  and  a  scythe  of  iron  hid 

Deep  in  the  south,  guarded  by  a  few  solitary  stars. 

This  sickle  Urizen  took;  the  scythe  his  sons  embraced, 

And  went  forth  and  began  to  reap,  and  all  his  joyful  sons 

Reaped  the  wide  universe,  and  bound  in  sheaves  a  wondrous  harvest. 

They  took  them  into  the  wide  barn  with  loud  rejoicings,  and  triumphs 

Of  flute  and  harp  and  drum  and  trumpet,  horn  and  clarion. 

The  feast  was  spread  in  the  bright  south;  and  the  Regenerated  Man 

Sat  at  the  feast  rejoicing,  and  the  wine  of  Eternity 

Was  served  round  by  the  flames  of  Luvah  all  day  and  all  the  night. 

And  when  morning  began  to  dawn  upon  the  distant  hills, 
A  whirlwind  rose  up  in  the  center,  and  in  the  whirlwind  a  shriek; 
And  in  the  shriek  a  rattling  of  bones,  and  in  the  rattling  of  bones 
A  dolourous  groan,  and  from  the  dolourous  groan  in  tears, 
Rose  Enion  like  a  gentle  light,  and  Enion  spoke,  saying: 

"O  Dream  of  Death!  the  human  form  dissolving,  compassed 

By  beasts  and  worms  and  creeping  things,  and  darkness  and  despair. 


The  clouds  fall  off  from  my  wet  brow,  the  dust  from  my  cold  limbs, 

Into  the  sea  of  Tharmas.     Soon  renewed,  a  golden  Moth 

I  shall  cast  off  my  death-clothes  and  embrace  Tharmas  again. 

For  lo !  the  winter  melted  away  upon  the  distant  hills, 

And  all  the  black  mould  sings."     She  spoke  to  her  infant  race;  her 

milk 

Descends  down  on  the  land,  the  thirsty  land  drinks  and  rejoices, 
Wondering  to  behold  the  emmet,  the  grasshopper,  the  jointed  worm. 
The  roots  shoot  thick  through  the  solid  rock,  bursting  their  way. 
They  cry  out  in  joys  of  existence,  the  broad  stems 
Rear  on  the  mountains  stem  after  stem.    The  scaly  newt  creeps 
From  the  stone,  and  the  armed  fly  springs  from  the  rocky  crevice, 
The  spider,  the  bat  burst  from  the  hardened  slime,  crying 
To  one  another:  "What  are  we?    And  whence  is  our  delight? 
The  little  moss  begins  to  spring,  and  the  tender  weed 
Creeps  round  our  secret  nest.     Flocks  brighten  the  mountains, 
Herds  throng  up  the  valley,  wild  beasts  fill  the  forests." 

Joy  thrilled  through  all  the  furious  forms  of  Tharmas,  humanizing. 
Mild  he  embraced  her  whom  he  sought.     He  raised  her  through  the 

heavens, 

Sounding  his  trumpet  to  awake  the  dead.     On  high  he  soared 
Over  the  ruined  worlds,  the  misty  tomb  of  the  Eternal  Prophet. 

The  Eternal  Man  arose.     He  welcomed  them  to  the  feast. 

The  feast  was  spread  in  the  bright  south;  and  the  Eternal  Man 

Sat  at  the  feast  rejoicing,  and  the  wine  of  Eternity 

Was  served  round  by  the  flames  of  Luvah  all  day  and  all  the  night. 

And  many  Eternal  Men  sat  at  the  golden  feast  to  see 

The  female  form  now  separate.  .   .   .  They  remember  the  days  of  old. 

And  one  of  the  Eternals  spoke;  all  was  silent  at  the  feast. 

"Man  is  a  worm  renewed  with  joy,  he  seeks  the  caves  of  sleep 

Among  the  flowers  of  Beulah  in  his  selfish  cold  repose, 

Forsaking  brotherhood  and  universal  love  in  selfish  clay, 

Folding  the  pure  wings  of  his  mind,  seeking  the  places  dark 

Abstracted  from  the  roots  of  Science,  then  enclosed  anew 

In  walls  of  gold.     We  cast  him  like  a  seed  into  the  earth 

Till  times  and  spaces  have  passed  over  him.     Duly  every  morn 

We  visit  him,  covering  with  a  veil  the  immortal  seed. 

With  windows  from  the  inclement  sky  we  cover  him,  and  with  walls 

And  hearths  protect  the  selfish  terror,  till  divided  all 

In  families  we  see  our  shadows  born,  and  thence  we  know 

That  Man  subsists  by  brotherhood  and  universal  love. 

We  fall  on  one  another's  necks,  more  closely  we  embrace, 

Not  for  ourselves,  but  for  the  Eternal  Family  we  live. 

42 


Man  liveth  not  by  self  alone,  but  in  his  brother's  face 

Each  shall  behold  the  Eternal  Father,  and  love  and  joy  abound." 

So  spoke  the  Eternal  at  the  Feast.    They  embraced  the  new-born  Man, 
Calling  him  Brother,  image  of  the  Eternal  Father.    They  sat  down 
At  the  immortal  tables,  sounding  loud  their  instruments  of  joy, 
Calling  the  Morning  into  Beulah.     The  Eternal  Man  rejoiced. 
When  Morning  dawned  the  Eternals  rose  to  labour  in  the  vintage. 
Beneath  they  saw  their  sons  and  daughters,  wondrous,  inconceivable, 
At  the  dark  myriads  in  shadows  in  the  worlds  beneath. 

The  Morning  dawned.    Urizen  rose,  and  in  his  hand  the  flail 
Sounds  on  the  floor,  heard  terrible  by  all  beneath  the  heavens. 
Dismal,  loud,  redounding,  the  nether  floor  shakes  with  the  sound, 
And  all  the  Nations  were  threshed  out,  and  the  stars  threshed  from 
their  husks. 

Then  Tharmas  took  the  winnowing  fan.    The  winnowing  wind  furious 
Above,  veered  round  by  violent  whirlwind  driven  west  and  south, 
Tossed  the  Nations  like  chaff  into  the  sea  of  Tharmas. 

"O  Mystery!"  fierce  Tharmas  cried,  "Behold  thy  end  is  come! 

Art  thou  she  that  made  the  Nations  drunk  with  the  cup  of  Religion? 

Go  down,  ye  kings  and  counsellors  and  giant  warriors, 

Go  down  into  the  depths ;  go  down  and  hide  yourselves  beneath. 

Go  down  with  horse  and  chariots  and  trumpets  of  hoarse  war. 

Lo !  how  the  pomp  of  Mystery  goes  down  into  the  caves. 

Her  great  men  howl  and  throw  the  dust,  and  rend  their  hoary  hair. 

Her  delicate  women  and  children  shriek  upon  the  bitter  wind, 

Spoiled  of  their  beauty,  their  hair  rent,  their  skin  shrivelled  up. 

Lo !  darkness  covers  the  long  pomp  of  banners  on  the  wind, 

And  black  horses,  and  armed  men,  and  miserable  bound  captives. 

Where  shall  the  graves  receive  them  all,  and  where  shall  be  their 

place? 
And  who  shall  mourn  for  Mystery,  who  never  loosed  her  captives?" 


VIII 
FROM  THE  STORY  OF  LOS  AND  ENITHARMON 

Los  is  the  god  of  time  and  also  represents  that  spirit  of  prophecy  and 
inspiration  which  at  once  according  to  the  Kantian  conception  arranges 
visions  in  order  of  time  and  yet  transcends  all  time.  His  wife  Enitharmon 
represents  space  and  also  perhaps  that  imaginative  clairvoyance  which 

43 


transcends  all  space.  Los  is  identified  in  a  vague,  two-in-one  way  with 
Urthona,  the  spirit  of  energy  and  the  last  of  the  four  Zoas  or  mental  kings. 
In  his  character  as  Los  he  is  the  noblest  and  mightiest  being  of  Blake's 
myth.  He  falls  into  error  occasionally,  but  is  usually  represented  as  for- 
ging on  his  anvils  all  that  is  noblest  and  most  imaginative  in  man's  mental 
life.  Los  is  often  also  identified  with  Blake  himself,  and  it  is  probable, 
though  less  certain,  that  Enitharmon  at  times  stands  for  either  a  real  or 
an  idealized  woman. 


i 
[L05  Falls  into  the  Abyss  of  Error  and  False  Prophecy. ,] 

The  Immortal  stood  frozen  amidst 
The  vast  rock  of  eternity,  times 
And  times,  a  night  of  vast  durance, 
Impatient,  stifled,  stiffen'd,  hard'ned; 

Till  impatience  no  longer  could  bear 

The  hard  bondage ;  rent,  rent  the  vast  solid 

With  a  crash  from  immense  to  immense; 

Crack'd  across  into  numberless  fragments, 
The  Prophetic  wrath  struggling  for  vent, 
Hurls  apart,  stamping  furious  to  dust, 
And  crumbling  with  bursting  sobs,  heaves 
The  black  marble  on  high  into  fragments. 

Hurl'd  apart  on  all  sides  as  a  falling 
Rock,  the  innumerable  fragments  away 
Fell  asunder,  and  horrible  vacuum 
Beneath  him  and  on  all  sides  round. 

Falling,  falling,  Los  fell  and  fell, 

Sunk  precipitant,  heavy  down,  down, 

Times  on  times,  night  on  night,  day  on  day — 

Truth  has  bounds,  Error  none — falling,  falling, 

Years  on  years,  and  ages  on  ages; 

Still  he  fell  thro'  the  void,  still  a  void, 

Found  for  falling  day  and  night  without  end; 

For  tho'  day  or  night  was  not,  their  spaces 

Were  measured  by  his  incessant  whirls 

In  the  horrid  vacuity  bottomless. 

44 


[  This  extract  and  the  three  following  deal  with  the  loves  and  jealousies 
of  Los  and  Enilharmon.~\ 

But  Los  and  Enitharmon  delighted  in  the  moony  spaces  of  Eno,1 
Nine  times  they  lived  among  the  forests,  feeding  on  sweet  fruits, 
And  nine  bright  spaces  wandered,  weaving  mazes  of  delight, 
Snaring  the  wild  goats  for  their  milk.     "We  eat  the  flesh  of  Lambs, 
A  male  and  female,  naked  and  ruddy  as  the  pride  of  summer." 

Alternate  love  and  hate  his  breast,  hers  scorn  and  jealousy, 

In  embryon  passions  [move],  they  kissed  not  nor  embraced  for  shame 

and  fear. 

His  head  beamed  bright  and  in  his  vigorous  voice  was  prophecy. 
He  could  control  the  times  and  seasons  and  the  days  and  years; 
She  could  control  the  spaces,  regions,  desert,  flood  and  forest, 
But  had  no  power  to  weave  the  veil  of  covering  for  her  sins. 
They  wandered  long,  till  they  sat  down  upon  the  margined  sea, 
Conversing  in  the  visions  of  Beulah  in  dark  slumbrous  bliss. 
Nine  years  they  viewed  the  living  spheres,   feeding  the  visions  of 
Beulah. 

But  the  two  youthful  wonders  wandered  in  the  world  of  Tharmas. 

"Thy  name  is  Enitharmon,"  said  the  fierce  prophetic  boy. 

"While  thy  mild  voice  fills  all  these  caverns  with  sweet  harmony, 

O  how  our  parents  sit  and  mourn  in  their  silent  secret  bowers!" 

But  Enitharmon  answered  with  a  dropping  tear  and  frowning 

Dark  as  a  dewy  morning  when  the  crimson  light  appears, — 

"We  hear  the  warlike  clarions,  we  view  the  burning  spears, 

Yet  thou  in  idolence  reposest,  holding  me  in  bonds. 

To  make  us  happy  let  them  weary  their  immortal  powers, 

While  we  draw  in  their  sweet  delights,  while  we  return  them  scorn 

On  scorn  to  feed  our  discontent,  for  if  we  grateful  prove 

They  will  withhold  sweet  love,  whose  food  is  scorn  and  bitter  roots." 

3 

And  Los  and  Enitharmon  sat  in  discontent  and  scorn. 

The  Nuptial  song  arose  from  all  the  thousand  thousand  spirits 

Over  the  joyful  earth  and  sea  and  ascended  into  the  heaven, 

For  elemental  gods  their  thunderous  organs  blew  creating 

Delicious  viands.     Demons  of  waves  their  watery  echoes  woke. 

Bright  souls  of  vegetative  life  budding  and  blossoming 

Stretch  their  immortal  hands  to  smite  the  gold  and  silver  strings, 

1  Eno  =  the  earth,  "the  aged  mother." 

45 


With   doubling  voices,    and   loud  horns,   wound   round   and   round, 

resounding. 

Cavernous  dwellers  filled  the  enormous  revelry,  responsing, 
And  spirits  of  flaming  fire  on  high  governed  the  mighty  song. 


For  Los  and  Enitharmon  walked  forth  on  the  dewy  earth, 

Contracting  or  expanding  all  their  flexible  senses 

At  will  to  murmur  in  the  flowers  small  as  the  honey-bee, 

At  will  to  stretch  across  the  heavens  and  step  from  star  to  star, 

Or  standing  on  the  earth  erect,  or  on  the  stormy  seas, 

Driving  the  storms  before  them  or  delighting  in  sunny  beams, 

While  round  their  heads  the  elemental  gods  kept  harmony. 

And  Los  said:  "Lo,  the  lily  pale  and  the  rose  reddening  fierce 
Reproach  thee,  and  the  beamy  garden  sickens  at  thy  beauty; 
I  grasp  thy  vest  in  my  strong  hands  in  vain,  like  water  springs 
In  the  bright  sands  of  Los  evading  my  embrace.    Thus  I  alone 
Wander  among  the  virgins  of  the  summer.     'Look,'  they  cry, 
'The  poor  forsaken  Los  mocked  by  the  worm,  the  shelly  snail, 
The  emmet  and  the  beetle';  hark!  they  laugh  and  mock  at  Los." 

Enitharmon  answered:  "If  the  god  enraptured  me  enfold 

In  clouds  of  sweet  obscurity,  my  beauteous  form  dissolving, 

Howl  thou  over  the  body  of  death.     'Tis  thine.     But  if  among  the 

visions 

Of  summer  I  have  seen  thee  sleep  and  turn  thy  cheek  delighted 
Upon  the  rose  or  lily  pale,  or  on  a  bank  where  sleep 
The  beamy  daughters  of  the  light,  starting,  they  rise,  they  flee 
From  thy  fierce  love,  for  though  I  am  dissolved  in  the  bright  god, 
My  spirit  still  pursues  thy  false  love  over  rocks  and  valleys." 

Los  answered:  "Therefore  fade  I  thus  dissolved  in  raptured  trance, 

Thou  canst  repose  on  clouds  of  secrecy,  while  o'er  my  limbs 

Cold  dews  and  hoary  frost  creep,  though  I  lie  on  banks  of  summer 

Among  the  branches  of  the  world.    Cold  and  repining  Los 

Still  dies  for  Enitharmon,  nor  a  spirit  springs  from  my  dead  corse, 

Then  I  am  dead  till  thou  revivest  me  with  thy  sweet  song. 

I  know  thee  not  as  once  I  knew  thee  in  those  blessed  fields 

Where  memory  wishes  to  repose  among  the  flocks  of  Tharmas." 

So  saying  in  deep  sobs  he  languished  till  dead  he  also  fell. 
Night  passed,  and  Enitharmon  ere  the  dawn  returned  in  bliss. 
She  sang  over  Los,  reviving  him  to  life;  his  groans  were  terrible. 
And  thus  she  sang: — 

"I  seize  the  sphery  harp,  strike  the  strings ! 

46 


At  the  first  sound  the  golden  Sun  arises  from  the  deep, 

And  shakes  his  awful  hair; 

The  echo  wakes  the  moon  to  unbind  her  silver  locks; 

The  golden  Sun  bears  on  my  song, 

And  nine  bright  spheres  of  harmony  rise  round  the  fiery  king. 

The  joy  of  woman  is  the  death  of  her  most  best  beloved, 

Who  dies  for  love  of  her 

In  torments  of  fierce  jealousy  and  pangs  of  adoration. 

The  lovers'  night  bears  on  my  song, 

And  the  nine  spheres  rejoice  beneath  my  powerful  control. 

They  sing  unceasing  to  the  notes  of  my  immortal  hand. 

The  solemn,  silent  moon 

Reverberates  the  living  harmony  upon  my  limbs; 

The  birds  and  beasts  rejoice  and  play, 

And  every  one  seeks  for  his  mate  to  prove  his  inmost  joy. 

Furious  and  terrible  they  sport  and  rend  the  nether  deep; 

The  Deep  lifts  up  his  rugged  head, 

And  lost  in  infinite  humming  wings  vanishes  with  a  cry. 

The  fading  cry  is  ever  dying, 

The  living  voice  is  ever  living  in  its  inmost  joy. 

Arise,  you  little  glancing  wings  and  sing  your  infant  joy, 

Arise  and  drink  your  bliss, 

For  everything  that  lives  is  holy,  for  the  source  of  life 

Descends  to  be  a  weeping  babe; 

For  the  earthworm  renews  the  moisture  of  the  sandy  plain. 

Now  my  left  hand  I  stretch  to  Earth  beneath, 

And  strike  the  terrible  string. 

I  wake  sweet  joy  in  dens  of  sorrow  and  I  plant  a  smile 

In  forests  of  affliction, 

And  wake  the  bubbling  springs  of  life  in  regions  of  dark  death. 

O,  I  am  weary!     Lay  thy  hand  upon  me  or  I  faint. 

I  faint  beneath  these  beams  of  thine, 

For  thou  hast  touched  my  five  senses,  and  they  answered  thee. 

Now  I  am  nothing,  and  I  sink, 

And  on  the  bed  of  silence  sleep  till  thou  awakest  me." 

Thus  sang  the  lonely  one  in  rapturous,  delusive  trance. 
Los  heard,  reviving.     He  seized  her  in  his  arms;  delusive  hope 
Kindling,  she  led  him  into  shadows,  and  thence  fled  outstretched 
Upon  the  immense  like  a  bright  rainbow,  weeping,  smiling,  fading. 

47 


5 
Then  Los  mourned  on  the  dismal  wind  in  his  jealous  lamentation. 

"Why  cannot  I  enjoy  thy  beauty,  lovely  Enitharmon? 

When  I  return  from  clouds  of  grief  in  the  wandering  elements, 

When  thou  in  thrilling  joy,  in  beaming  summer  loveliness, 

Delectable  reposest,  ruddy  in  my  absence,  flaming  with  beauty, 

Cold,  pale  in  sorrow  at  my  approach,  trembling  at  my  terrific 

Forehead  and  eyes,  thy  lips  decay  like  roses  in  the  spring. 

How  art  thou  shrunk !    Thy  grapes  that  burst  in  summer's  vast  excess, 

Shut  up  in  little  purple  covering,  faintly  bud  and  die. 

Thy  olive-trees  that  poured  down  oil  upon  a  thousand  hills 

Sickly  look  forth  and  scarcely  stretch  their  branches  to  the  plain. 

Thy  roses  that  expanded  in  the  face  of  glowing  morn 

Hid  in  a  little  silken  veil  scarce  breathe  and  faintly  shine; 

Thy  lilies  that  gave  light  what  time  the  morning  looked  forth 

Hid  in  the  vales,  faintly  lament,  and  no  one  hears  their  voice. 

All  things  beside  the  woeful  Los  enjoy  delights  of  beauty! 

Once  how  I  sang  and  called  the  beasts  and  birds  to  their  delight, 

Nor  knew  that  I  alone,  exempted  from  the  joys  of  love, 

Must  war  with  secret  monsters  of  the  animating  worlds. 

O,  that  I  had  not  seen  the  day!    Then  should  I  be  at  rest! 

Nor  felt  the  strivings  of  desire,  nor  longings  after  life, 

For  life  is  sweet  to  Los  the  wretched.    To  his  winged  woes 

Is  given  a  craving  cry;  that  they  may  sit  at  night  on  barren  rocks, 

And  whet  their  beaks  and  snuff  the  air,  and  watch  the  opening  dawn, 

And  shriek  till  at  the  smell  of  blood  they  stretch  their  bony  wings, 

And  cut  the  winds  like  arrows  shot  by  troops  of  destiny." 

Thus  Los  lamented  in  the  night,  unheard  by  Enitharmon. 


[ The  birth  of  Ore,  the  spirit  of  human  passion."] 
[The  "he"  in  the  opening  lines  refers  to  Los.~\ 

Infected,  mad,  he  danced  on  his  mountains  high  and  dark  as  heaven, 

Now  fixed  into  one  steadfast  bulk  his  features  stonify. 

From  his  mouth  curses,  and  from  his  eyes  issuing  sparks  of  blighting, 

Beside  the  anvil  cold  he  danced  with  the  hammer  of  Urthona. 

Terrific,  pale,  Enitharmon  stretched  on  the  dreary  earth, 

Felt  her  immortal  limbs  freeze,  stiffening,  pale,  inflexible. 

His  feet  shrunk  withering,  from  the  deeps  shrinking  and  withering; 

And  Enitharmon  shrunk  up,  all  their  fibres  withering 

48 


As  plants  withered  by  winter,  leaves  and  stems,  and  roots  decaying, 
Melt  into  thin  air,  while  the  seed,  driven  by  the  furious  wind, 
Rests  on  the  distant  mountain  tops,  so  Los  and  Enitharmon 
Shrunk  into  fixed  space  stood  trembling  on  a  rocky  cliff. 
As  far  as  highest  Zenith  from  lowest  Nadir  so  far  they  shrunk, 
Los  from  the  furnaces  a  space  immense,  and  left  the  cold 
Prince  of  Light  bound  in  chains  of  intellect  among  the  furnaces. 
But  all  the  furnaces  were  out  and  the  bellows  had  ceased  to  blow. 
He  stood  trembling,  and  Enitharmon  clung  around  his  knees, 
Their  senses  unexpansive  in  one  steadfast  bulk  remained. 
The  night  blew  cold,  and  Enitharmon  shrieked  on  the  dismal  wind. 
Her  pale  hands  cling  around  her  husband,  and  over  her  weak  head 
Shadows  of  Eternal  Death  sit  in  the  leaden  air. 

But  the  soft  pipe,  the  flute  and  viol,  organ,  harp,  and  cymbal, 
And  the  sweet  sound  of  silver  voices  calm  the  weary  couch 
Of  Enitharmon,  but  her  groans  drown  the  immortal  harps. 
Loud  and  more  loud  the  living  music  floats  upon  the  air; 
Faint  and  more  faint  the  daylight  waxes ;  the  wheels  of  turning  dark- 
ness 

Began  in  solemn  revolutions.    Earth  convulsed  with  rending  pangs 
Rocked  to  and  fro  and  cried  sore  at  the  groans  of  Enitharmon. 

Still  the  faint  harps  and  silver  voices  calm  the  weary  couch; 
But  from  the  caves  of  deepest  night,  ascending  in  clouds  of  mist, 
The  winter  spreads  his  wide  black  wings  across  from  pole  to  pole; 
Grim  frost  beneath,  and  terrible  snow  linked  in  a  marriage  chain 
Began  a  dismal  dance.    The  winds  around  on  pointed  rocks 
Settled  like  bats  innumerable,  ready  to  fly  abroad. 
The  groans  of  Enitharmon  shake  the  skies,  the  labouring  earth, 
Till  from  her  heart,  rending  his  way,  a  terrible  child  sprang  forth 
In  thunder,   smoke,   and  sullen  flames,   and  howlings,   of  fury  and 
blood. 

Soon  as  his  burning  eyes  were  opened,  looking  on  the  abyss, 
The  horrible  trumpets  of  the  deep  bellowed  with  bitter  blasts, 
The  enormous  demons  woke  and  howled  around  the  new-born  king. 


\The  -parents  of  Ore,  In  fear  of  his  might,  have  bound  him,  and  now 
make  a  vain  attempt  to  release  him.] 

His  limbs  bound  down  mock  at  his  chains,  for  over  them  a  flame 
Of  circling  fire  unceasing  play  to  feed  them  with  life,  and  bring 
The  virtues  of  the  Eternal  Worlds.    Ten  thousand  thousand  spirits 

49 


Of  life  lament  around  the  Demon,  going  forth  and  returning. 

At  his  enormous  call  they  flee  into  the  heavens  of  heavens, 

And  back  return  with  wine  and  food,  or  dive  into  the  deeps 

To  bring  the  thrilling  joys  of  sense  to  quell  his  ceaseless  rage. 

His  eyes,  the  lights  of  his  large  soul,  contract,  or  else  expand. 

Contracted  they  behold  the  secrets  of  the  infinite  mountains, 

The  veins  of  gold  and  silver,  and  the  hidden  things  of  Vala, 

Whatever  grows  from  its  pure  bud,  or  wreathes  a  fragrant  soul. 

Expanded  they  behold  the  terrors  of  the  Sun  and  Moon, 

The  elemental  planets,  and  the  orbs  of  eccentric  fire. 

His  nostrils  breathe  a  fiery  flame,  his  locks  are  like  the  forests 

Of  wild  beasts;  there  the  lion  glares,  the  tiger  and  wolf  howl  there, 

And  there  the  eagle  hides  her  young  in  cliffs  and  precipices. 

His  bosom  is  like  the  starry  heavens  expanded.    All  the  stars 

Sing  round.    There  waves  the  harvest;  and  the  vintage  rejoices.    The 

springs 

Flow  into  rivers  of  delight.    There  the  spontaneous  flowers 
Drink,  laugh,  and  sing;  the  grasshopper,  the  emmet  and  the  fly, 
The  golden  moth  builds  there  a  house  and  spreads  her  silken  bed. 
His  loins  inwove  with  silken  fires  are  like  a  furnace  fierce, 
As  the  strong  bull  in  summer  time  when  bees  sing  round  the  heath, 
When  the  herds  low  after  the  shadow  and  after  the  water-spring. 
The  numerous  flocks  cover  the  mountains  and  shine  along  the  valley; 
His  knees  are  rocks  of  adamant,  ruby,  and  emerald; 
Spirits  of  strength  in  palaces  rejoice  in  golden  armour, 
Armed  with  the  spear  and  shield  they  drink  and  rejoice  over  the  slain. 
Such  is  the  Demon,  such  his  terror  on  the  nether  deep. 

And  Los  repented  that  he  had  chained  Ore  upon  the  mountain. 
And  Enitharmon's  tears  prevailed.     Parental  love  returned. 
Though  terrible  his  dread  of  that  infernal  chain,  they  rose 
At  midnight  hasting  to  their  much  beloved  care. 
Los  taking  Enitharmon  by  the  hand  led  her  along 
The  dismal  vales  and  up  to  the  iron  mountain  tops  where  Ore 
Howled  in  the  furious  wind.     He  thought  to  give  to  Enitharmon 
Her  son  in  tenfold  joy,  and  to  compensate  for  her  tears 
Even  if  his  own  death  resulted,  so  much  pity  him  pained. 

But  when  they  came  to  the  dark  rock  and  to  the  spectrous  cave, 
Lo,  the  young  limbs  had  strucken  root  into  the  rock,  and  strong 
Fibres  had  from  the  chain  of  jealousy  inwove  themselves 
In  a  swift  vegetation  round  the  rock  and  round  the  cave, 
And  over  the  immortal  limbs  of  the  terrible  fiery  boy. 

50 


In  vain  they  strove  now  to  unchain,  in  vain  with  bitter  tears 

To  melt  the  chain  of  jealousy.    Not  Enitharmon's  death, 

Nor  the  consummating  of  Los,  could  ever  melt  the  chain, 

Nor  could  unroot  the  infernal  fibres  from  their  rocky  bed. 

Nor  all  Urthona's  strength,  nor  all  the  power  of  Luvah's  bulls, 

Though  they  each  morning  drag  the  unwilling  sun  out  of  the  deep, 

Could  now  uproot  the  infernal  chain,  for  it  had  taken  root 

Into  the  iron  rock,  and  grew  a  chain  beneath  the  earth, 

Even  to  the  centre,  wrapping  round  the  centre  and  the  limbs 

Of  Ore,  entering  with  fibres  become  one  with  him,  a  living  chain 

Sustained  by  the  Demon's  life.    Despair,  and  terror,  and  woe  and  rage 

Enwrap  the  parents  in  cold  clouds  as  they  bend  howling  o'er 

The  terrible  boy,  till  fainting  by  his  side,  the  parents  fell. 


8 
[Los  at  his  anvils  in  the  City  of  Law.] 

Thundering  the  Hammers  beat,  and  the  Bellows  blow  loud, 

Living,  self-moving,  mourning,  lamenting,  and  howling  incessantly. 

Bowlahoola1  thro'  all  its  porches  feels,  tho'  too  fast  founded, 

Its  pillars  and  porticoes  to  tremble  at  the  force 

Of  mortal  or  immortal  arm,  and  softly  lilling  flutes, 

Accordant  with  the  horrid  labours,  make  sweet  melody. 

Thousands  and  thousands  labour,  thousands  play  on  instruments, 

Stringed  or  fluted,  to  ameliorate  the  sorrows  of  slavery. 

Loud  sport  the  dancers  in  the  dance  of  death,  rejoicing  in  carnage. 

The  hard,  dentant  Hammers  are  lulled  by  the  flutes'  lula  lula, 

The  bellowing  Furnaces'  blare  by  the  long  sounding  clarion, 

The  double  drum  drowns  howls  and  groans,  the  shrill  fife  shrieks  and 

cries, 

The  crooked  horn  mellows  the  hoarse,  raving  serpent,  terrible,  but 
harmonious. 

Los  is  by  mortals  nam'd  Time,  Enitharmon  is  nam'd  Space; 
But  they  depict  him  bald  and  aged  who  is  in  eternal  youth, 
All  powerful,  and  his  locks  flourish  like  the  brows  of  morning; 
He  is  the  Spirit  of  Prophecy,  the  ever  apparent  Elias; 
Time  is  the  mercy  of  Eternity;  without  Time's  swiftness, 
Which  is  the  swiftest  of  all  things,  all  were  eternal  torment. 
All  the  Gods  of  the  Kingdoms  of  Earth  labour  in  Los's  Halls. 
Every  one  is  a  fallen  Son  of  the  Spirit  of  Prophecy. 
He  is  the  Fourth  Zoa,  that  stood  around  the  Throne  Divine. 

1  The  City  of  Law. 

51 


9 

[Los  forces  his  Spectre,  or  baser  nature,  to  help  him  in  his  great  purpose.] 

"I  must  Create  a  System,  or  be  enslav'd  by  another  Man's; 
I  will  not  Reason  and  Compare;  my  business  is  to  Create." 

So  Los,  in  fury  and  strength,  in  indignation  and  burning  wrath; 
Shudd'ring  the  Spectre  howls,  his  bowlings  terrify  the  night. 
He  stamps  around  the  Anvil,  beating  blows  of  stern  despair; 
He  curses  Heaven  and  Earth,  Day  and  Night,  and  Sun  and  Moon ! 
He  curses  Forest,  Spring,  and  River,  Desert  and  sandy  Waste, 
Cities  and  Nations,  Families  and  Peoples,  Tongues  and  Laws, 
Driven  to  desperation  by  Los's  terrors  and  threat'ning  fears. 

10 

Thou  seest  the  Constellations  in  the  deep  and  wondrous  Night, 
They  rise  in  order  and  continue  their  immortal  courses 
Upon  the  mountains  and  in  vales,  with  harp  and  heavenly  song, 
With  flute  and  clarion,  with  cups  and  measures  fill'd  with  foaming 

wine. 

Glitt'ring  the  streams  reflect  the  Vision  of  beatitude, 
And  the  calm  Ocean  joys  beneath,  and  smooths  his  awful  waves. 

These  are  the  Sons  of  Los,  and  these  the  Labourers  of  the  Vintage. 
Thou  seest  the  gorgeous  clothed  Flies  that  dance  and  sport  in  summer 
Upon  the  sunny  brooks  and  meadows;  every  one  the  dance 
Knows  in  its  intricate  mazes  of  delight,  artful  to  weave, 
Each  one  to  sound  his  instruments  of  music  in  the  dance, 
To  touch  each  other  and  recede ;  to  cross  and  change  and  return. 
These  are  the  Children  of  Los.    Thou  seest  the  Trees  on  mountains; 
The  wind  blows  heavy,  loud  they  thunder  thro'  the  darksom  sky, 
Uttering  prophecies  and  speaking  instructive  words  to  the  sons 
Of  men.    These  are  the  Sons  of  Los,  these  the  Visions  of  Eternity. 
But  we  see  only  as  it  were  the  hem  of  their  garments. 

But  others  of  the  Sons  of  Los  build  Moments  and  Minutes  and  Hours, 
And  Days  and  Months  and  Years,  and  Ages  and  Periods,  wondrous 

buildings. 

And  every  Moment  has  a  Couch  of  gold  for  soft  repose — 
A  Moment  equals  a  pulsation  of  the  artery — 
And  between  every  two  Moments  stands  a  Daughter  of  Beulah, 
To  feed  the  Sleepers  on  their  Couches  with  maternal  care. 
And  every  Minute  has  an  azure  Tent  with  silken  Veils ; 
And  every  Hour  has  a  bright  golden  Gate  carved  with  skill; 

52 


And  every  Day  and  Night  has  Walls  of  brass  and  Gates  of  adamant, 

Shining  like  precious  stones,  and  ornamented  with  appropriate  signs; 

And  every  Month  a  silver  paved  Terrace,  builded  high ; 

And  every  Year,  invulnerable  Barriers,  with  high  Towers; 

And  every  Age  is  Moated  deep  with  Bridges  of  silver  and  gold; 

And  every  Seven  Ages  is  encircled  with  a  Flaming  Fire. 

All  are  the  work  of  Fairy  hands  of  the  Four  Elements. 

The  Guard  are  Angels  of  Providence  on  duty  evermore. 

Every  Time  less  than  a  pulsation  of  the  artery 

Is  equal  in  its  period  and  value  to  Six  Thousand  Years. 

For  in  this  Period  the  Poet's  Work  is  Done;  and  all  the  Great 
Events  of  Time  start  forth,  and  are  conceiv'd  in  such  a  Period 
Within  a  Moment,  a  Pulsation  of  the  Artery. 
The  Sky  is  an  immortal  Tent  built  by  the  Sons  of  Los, 
And  every  Space  that  a  Man  views  around  his  dwelling-place, 
Standing  on  his  own  roof  or  in  his  garden  on  a  mount 
Of  twenty-five  cubits  in  height,  such  space  is  his  Universe ; 
And  on  its  verge  the  Sun  rises  and  sets,  the  Clouds  bow 
To  meet  the  flat  Earth  and  the  Sea  in  such  an  order'd  Space; 
The  Starry  heavens  reach  no  further,  but  here  bend  and  set 
On  all  sides,  and  the  two  poles  turn  on  their  valves  of  gold; 
And  if  he  move  his  dwelling-place,  his  heavens  also  move. 


ii 

[  The  weaving  of  the  daughters  of  Los  may  represent  the  despised 
poet  and  prophet  weaving  their  imaginative  dreams.  Or  it  may  symbolize 
the  imagination  creating  in  our  brain  the  supposedly  material  universe. ~\ 

And  one  Daughter  of  Los  sat  at  the  fiery  Reel,  and  another 
Sat  at  the  shining  Loom  with  her  Sisters  attending  round. 
Terrible  their  distress,  and  their  sorrow  cannot  be  utter'd; 
And  another  Daughter  of  Los  sat  at  the  Spinning  WheeL 
Endless  their  labour,  with  bitter  food,  void  of  sleep, 
Tho'  hungry,  they  labour;  they  rouse  themselves,  anxious, 
Hour  after  hour  labouring  at  the  whirling  Wheel; 
Many  Wheels  and  as  many  lovely  Daughters  sit  weeping. 

Yet  the  intoxicating  delight  that  they  take  in  their  work 

Obliterates  every  other  evil;  none  pities  their  tears, 

Yet  they  regard  not  pity,  and  they  expect  no  one  to  pity, 

For  they  labour  for  life  and  love,  regardless  of  any  one 

But  for  the  poor  Spectres  that  they  work  for  always  incessantly. 

53 


They  are  mock'd  by  every  one  that  passes  by,  they  regard  not; 
They  labour,  and  when  their  Wheels  are  broken  by  scorn  and  malice, 
They  mend  them,  sorrowing  with  many  tears  and  afflictions. 

Other  Daughters  of  Los,  labouring  at  looms  less  fine, 

Create  the  Silkworm  and  the  Spider  and  the  Catterpillar 

To  assist  in  their  most  grievous  work  of  pity  and  compassion. 

And  others  create  the  woolly  Lamb  and  the  downy  Fowl 

To  assist  in  the  work;  the  Lamb  bleats;  the  Seafowl  cries. 

Men  understand  not  the  distress  and  the  labour  and  sorrow 

That  in  the  Interior  Worlds  is  carried  on  in  fear  and  trembling, 

Weaving  the  shudd'ring  fears  and  loves  of  Albion's  Families. 

Thunderous  rage  the  Spindles  of  iron,  and  the  iron  Distaff 

Maddens  in  the  fury  of  their  hands,  weaving  in  bitter  tears 

The  Veil  of  Goat's-hair  and  Purple  and  Scarlet  and  fine  twined  Linen. 


12 

Here  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames  Los  builded  Golgonooza,1 

Outside  of  the  Gates  of  the  Human  Heart,  beneath  Beulah, 

In  the  midst  of  the  rocks  of  the  Altars  of  Albion.    In  fears 

He  builded  it,  in  rage  and  in  fury.     It  is  the  Spiritual  Fourfold 

London,  continually  building  and  continually  decaying,  desolate 

In  eternal  labours ;  loud  the  Furnaces  and  loud  the  Anvils 

Of  Death  thunder  incessant  around  the  flaming  Couches. 

Fourfold  the  Sons  of  Los  in  their  divisions;  and  fourfold 

The  great  City  of  Golgonooza;  fourfold  toward  the  north, 

And  toward  the  south  fourfold,  and  fourfold  toward  the  east  and  west, 

Each  within  other  toward  the  four  points;  that  toward 

Eden,  and  that  toward  the  World  of  Generation, 

And  that  toward  Beulah,  and  that  toward  Ulro.2 

Ulro  is  the  space  of  the  terrible  starry  wheels  of  Albion's  sons; 

But  that  toward  Eden  is  walled  up  till  time  of  renovation; 

Yet  it  is  perfect  in  its  building,  ornaments,  and  perfection. 

And  the  Four  Points  are  thus  beheld  in  Great  Eternity : 
West,  the  Circumference;  South,  the  Zenith;  North, 
The  Nadir;  East,  the  Center,  unapproachable  for  ever. 
These  are  the  four  Faces  towards  the  Four  Worlds  of  Humanity 
In  every  man.    Ezekiel  saw  them  by  Chebar's  flood. 

And  the  North  Gate  of  Golgonooza  toward  Generation 
Has  four  sculptur'd  Bulls  terrible  before  the  Gate  of  iron, 

1  Golgonooza  is  also  defined  by  Blake  as  the  City  of  Art  and  Manufacture. 

2  Ulro=  realm  or  state  of  error. 

54 


And  iron  the  Bulls;  and  that  which  looks  toward  Ulro, 
Clay  bak'd  and  enamel'd,  eternal  glowing  as  four  furnaces, 
Turning  upon  the  Wheels1  of  Albion's  sons  with  enormous  power; 
And  that  toward  Beulah  four — gold,  silver,  brass,  and  iron; 
And  that  toward  Eden  four,  form'd  of  gold,  silver,  brass,  and  iron. 

The  South,  a  golden  Gate,  has  four  Lions  terrible,  living; 
That  toward  Generation  four,  of  iron  carv'd  wondrous; 
That  toward  Ulro  four,  clay  bak'd,  laborious  workmanship : 
That  toward  Eden  four,  immortal  gold,  silver,  brass,  and  iron. 

The  Western  Gate,  fourfold,  is  clos'd;  having  four  Cherubim 
Its  guards,  living,  the  work  of  elemental  hands — laborious  task — 
Like  men,  hermaphroditic,  each  winged  with  eight  wings : 
That  toward  Generation,  iron;  that  toward  Beulah,  stone; 
That  toward  Ulro,  clay;  that  toward  Eden,  metals; 
But  all  clos'd  up  till  the  last  day,  when  the  graves  shall  yield  their 
dead. 

The  Eastern  Gate,  fourfold;  terrible  and  deadly  its  ornaments 
Taking  their  forms  from  the  Wheels  of  Albion's  sons,  as  cogs 
Are  form'd  in  a  wheel,  to  fit  the  cogs  of  the  adverse  wheel. 

That  toward  Eden,  eternal  ice,  frozen  in  seven  folds 
Of  forms  of  death;  and  that  toward  Beulah,  stone; 
The  seven  diseases  of  the  earth  are  carved  terrible. 
And  that  toward  Ulro,  forms  of  war,  seven  enormities : 
And  that  toward  Generation,  seven  generative  forms. 

And  every  part  of  the  City  is  fourfold;  and  every  inhabitant  fourfold; 
And  every  pot  and  vessel  and  garment  and  utensil  of  the  houses; 
And  every  house,  fourfold;  but  the  third  Gate  in  every  one 
Is  clos'd  as  with  a  threefold  curtain  of  ivory  and  fine  linen  and  ermine. 

Around  Golgonooza  lies  the  land  of  death  eternal;  a  Land 
Of  pain  and  misery  and  despair  and  ever-brooding  melancholy. 

There  is  the  Cave,  the  Rock,  the  Tree,  the  Lake  of  Udan-Adan,2 
The  Forest  and  the  Marsh,  and  the  Pits  of  bitumen  deadly; 
The  Rocks  of  solid  fire,  the  Ice  valleys,  the  Plains 
Of  burning  sand,  the  rivers,  cataract,  and  Lakes  of  Fire; 
The  Islands  of  the  fiery  Lakes,  the  Trees  of  Malice,  Revenge, 
And  black  Anxiety,  and  the  Cities  of  the  Salamandrine  men. 
The  land  of  darkness  flamed,  but  no  light,  and  no  repose ; 

1  Starry  wheels  symbolizing  probably  various  types  of  dogmatism  and  error. 

2  Udan-Adan  probably  =  the  Lake  of  Oblivion.    Cf.  The  Passions. 

55 


The  land  of  snows,  of  trembling,  and  of  iron  hail  incessant; 
The  land  of  earthquakes;  and  the  land  of  woven  labyrinths; 
The  land  of  snares  and  traps  and  wheels,  and  pitfalls  and  dire  mills; 
The  Voids,  the  Solids,  and  the  land  of  clouds  and  regions  of  waters. 

13 

[A  vision  of  Los  in  anger.'] 

Like  the  black  storm  coming  out  of  Chaos,  beyond  the  stars, 
It  issues  thro'  the  dark  and  intricate  caves  of  the  Mundane  Shell, 
Passing  the  planetary  visions  and  the  well  adorned  Firmament. 
The  Sun  rolls  into  Chaos  and  the  Stars  into  the  Deserts, 
And  then  the  storms  become  visible,  audible,  and  terrible, 
Covering  the  light  of  day;  and  rolling  down  upon  the  mountains, 
Deluge  all  the  country  round.     Such  is  a  vision  of  Los 
When  Rintrah  and  Palamabron  spake,  and  such  his  stormy  face 
Appear'd,  as  does  the  face  of  heaven  when  cover'd  with  thick  storms, 
Pitying  and  loving,  tho'  in  frowns  of  terrible  perturbation. 

But  Los  dispers'd  the  clouds,  even  as  the  strong  winds  of  Jehovah. 
And  Los  thus  spoke :  "O  noble  Sons,  be  patient  yet  a  little; 
I  have  embraced  the  falling  Death,  he  is  become  one  with  me. 
O  Sons,  we  live  not  by  wrath,  by  mercy  alone  we  live." 

14 

Just  at  the  place  to  where  the  Lark  mounts  is  a  Crystal  Gate. 
It  is  the  entrance  of  the  First  Heaven,  named  Luther;  for 
The  Lark  is  Los's  Messenger  thro'  the  Twenty-seven  Churches, 
That  the  Seven  Eyes  of  God,  who  walk  even  to  Satan's  Seat, 
Thro'  all  the  Twenty-seven  Heavens  may  not  slumber  nor  sleep. 

When  on  the  highest  lift  of  his  light  pinions  he  arrives 

At  that  bright  Gate,  another  Lark  meets  him,  and  back  to  back 

They  touch  their  pinions'  tip  tip,  and  each  descend 

To  their  respective  Earths,  and  there  all  night  consult  with  Angels 

Of  Providence  and  with  the  Eyes  of  God  all  night  in  slumbers 

Inspired;  and  at  the  dawn  of  day  send  out  another  Lark 

Into  another  Heaven  to  carry  news  upon  his  wings. 

Thus  are  the  Messengers  dispatched  till  they  reach  the  Earth  again 

In  the  East  Gate  of  Golgonooza,  and  the  Twenty-eighth  bright 

Lark  met  the  Female  Ololon  descending  into  my  Garden. 

Thus  it  appears  to  Mortal  eyes  and  those  of  the  Ulro1  Heavens, 

But  not  thus  to  Immortals;  the  Lark  is  a  mighty  Angel. 

1  Ulro  =  state  of  error. 

56 


15 

There  is  in  Eden  a  sweet  River  of  milk  and  liquid  pearl 
Nam'd  Ololon,  on  whose  mild  banks  dwelt  those  who  Milton  drove 
Down  into  Ulro ;  and  they  wept  in  long  resounding  song 
For  seven  days  of  eternity;  and  the  river's  living  banks, 
The  mountains  wailed,  and  every  plant  that  grew  in  solemn  sighs 
lamented. 

When  Luvah's  bulls  each  morning  drag  the  sulphur  Sun  out  of  the 

Deep, 

Harnessed  with  starry  harness  black  and  shining,  kept  by  black  slaves 
That  work  all  night  at  the  starry  harness — strong  and  vigorous, 
They  drag  the  unwilling  Orb — at  this  time  all  the  Family 
Of  Eden  heard  the  lamentation,  and  Providence  began; 
But  when  the  clarions  of  day  sounded,  they  drown'd  the  lamentations ; 
And  when  night  came  all  was  silent  in  Ololon,  and  all  refus'd  to 

lament 
In  the  still  night,  fearing  lest  they  should  others  molest. 

Seven  mornings  Los  heard  them,  as  the  poor  bird  within  the  shell 
Hears  its  impatient  parent  bird;  and  Enitharmon  heard  them 
But  saw  them  not,  for  the  blue  Mundane  Shell  enclos'd  them  in. 

16 
[Loj  brings  divine  inspiration  to  Blake.~\ 

While  Los  heard  indistinct  in  fear,  what  time  I  bound  my  sandals 

On  to  walk  forward  thro'  Eternity,  Los  descended  to  me; 

And  Los  behind  me  stood,  a  terrible  flaming  Sun,  just  close 

Behind  my  back.     I  turned  round  in  terror,  and  behold, 

Los  stood  in  that  fierce-glowing  fire ;  and  he  also  stoop'd  down 

And  bound  my  sandals  on  in  Udan  Adan.1    Trembling  I  stood 

Exceedingly  with  fear  and  terror,  standing  in  the  Vale 

Of  Lambeth ;  but  he  kissed  me  and  wished  me  health, 

And  I  became  One  Man  with  him,  arising  in  my  strength. 

'Twas  too  late  now  to  recede,  Los  had  enter'd  into  my  soul; 

His  terrors  now  possess'd  me  whole !  I  arose  in  fury  and  strength. 

"I  am  that  Shadowy  Prophet  who,  Six  Thousand  Years  ago, 
Fell  from  my  station  in  the  Eternal  bosom.    Six  Thousand  Years 
Are  finish'd.     I  return !  both  Time  and  Space  obey  my  will. 
I  in  Six  Thousand  Years  walk  up  and  down,  for  not  one  Moment 
Of  Time  is  lost,  nor  one  Event  of  Space  unpermanent; 
But  all  remain;  every  fabric  of  Six  Thousand  Years 

1  Udan  Adan  probably  =  state  of  mental  confusion.    Cf.  passage  12. 

57 


Remains  permanent;  tho'  on  the  Earth,  where  Satan 

Fell  and  was  cut  off,  all  things  vanish  and  are  seen  no  more, 

They  vanish,  not  from  me  and  mine ;  we  guard  them  first  and  last. 

The  generations  of  men  run  on  in  the  tide  of  Time, 

But  leave  their  destin'd  lineaments  permanent  for  ever  and  ever." 

So  spake  Los  as  we  went  along  to  his  supreme  abode. 


IX 
FROM  THE  STORY  OF  ALBION  AND  JERUSALEM 

Albion  in  Jerusalem  takes  the  place  of  a  character  called  The  Eternal 
Man,  in  the  earlier  poem  of  Fala.  Apparently  Blake  originally  meant  this 
character  to  be  a  personification  of  abstract  humanity,  and  later  decided  to 
make  him  a  personification  of  the  English  race,  which  in  turn  represents 
humanity  as  a  whole.  Jerusalem  is  a  female  spirit  symbolizing  liberty, 
liberty  in  poetry,  in  social  relations,  in  religion,  and  in  all  imaginative  life. 
She  is  also  the  mutual  forgiveness,  without  which  mutual  liberty  is  impos- 
sible. The  story  of  Albion  and  Jerusalem  symbolizes  the  long  search  of  a 
people,  through  many  errors  and  lapses,  for  "the  truth  that  shall  make 
you  free." 


And  Los  prayed  and  said:  "O  Divine  Saviour,  arise 
Upon  the  Mountains  of  Albion  as  in  ancient  time.    Behold ! 
The  Cities  of  Albion  seek  thy  face,  London  groans  in  pain 
From  Hill  to  Hill,  and  the  Thames  laments  along  the  Valleys. 
The  little  Villages  of  Middlesex  and  Surrey  hunger  and  thirst, 
The  Twenty-eight  Cities  of  Albion  stretch  their  hands  to  thee 
Because  of  the  Oppressors  of  Albion  in  every  City  and  Village. 
They  mock  at  the  Labourer's  limbs,  they  mock  at  his  starv'd  Children; 
They  buy  his  Daughters  that  they  may  have  power  to  sell  his  sons ; 
They  compel  the  Poor  to  live  upon  a  crust  of  bread;  by  soft,  mild  arts 
They  reduce  the  Man  to  want,  then  give  with  pomp  and  ceremony. 
The  praise  of  Jehovah  is  chaunted  from  lips  of  hunger  and  thirst." 

2 
[Lo5  speaks  again.'} 

"I  saw  the  limbs  form'd  for  exercise,  contemn'd,  and  the  beauty  of 
Eternity  look'd  upon  as  deformity,  and  loveliness  as  a  dry  tree. 
I  saw  disease  forming  a  Body  of  Death  around  the  Lamb 

58 


Of  God  to  destroy  Jerusalem,  and  to  devour  the  body  of  Albion, 
By  war  and  stratagem  to  win  the  labour  of  the  husbandman; 
Awkwardness  arm'd  in  steel,  folly  in  a  helmet  of  gold, 
Weakness  with  horns  and  talons,  ignorance  with  a  rav'ning  beak — 
Inspiration  deny'd,  Genius  forbidden  by  laws  of  punishment; 
I  saw,  terrified.    I  took  the  sighs  and  tears  and  bitter  groans, 
I  lifted  them  into  my  Furnaces  to  form  the  spiritual  sword 
That  lays  open  the  hidden  heart;  I  drew  forth  the  pang 
Of  sorrow  red  hot,  I  work'd  it  on  my  resolute  anvil. 
Loud  roar  my  Furnaces  and  loud  my  hammer  is  heard. 
I  labour  day  and  night.     I  behold  the  soft  affections 
Condense  beneath  my  hammer  into  forms  of  cruelty; 
But  still  I  labour  in  hope,  tho'  still  my  tears  flow  down, 
That  he  who  will  not  defend  Truth  may  be  compell'd  to  defend 
A  Lie;  that  he  may  be  snared  and  caught  and  snared  and  taken, 
That  Enthusiasm  and  Life  may  not  cease;  arise,  Spectre,  arise!" 


So  Los  spoke.     But  when  he  saw  blue  death  in  Albion's  feet, 

Again  he  join'd  the  Divine  Body,  following,  merciful, 

While  Albion  fled  more  indignant,  revengeful,  covering 

His  face  and  bosom  with  petrific  hardness,  and  his  hands 

And  feet,  lest  any  should  enter  his  bosom  and  embrace 

His  hidden  heart;  his  Emanation  wept  and  trembled  within  him, 

Uttering  not  his  jealousy,  but  hiding  it  as  with 

Iron  and  steel,  dark  and  opake,  with  clouds  and  tempests  brooding; 

His  strong  limbs  shudder'd  upon  his  mountains  high  and  dark. 

Turning  from  Universal  Love  petrific  as  he  went, 

His  cold  against  the  warmth  of  Eden  rag'd  with  loud 

Thunders  of  deadly  war  (the  fever  of  the  human  soul), 

Fires,  and  clouds  of  rolling  smoke ;  but  mild  the  Saviour  follow'd  him, 

Displaying  the  Eternal  Vision,  the  Divine  Similitude, 

In  loves  and  tears  of  brothers,  sisters,  sons,  fathers,  and  friends, 

Which  if  Man  ceases  to  behold,  he  ceases  to  exist, 

Saying:  "Albion!    Our  wars  are  wars  of  life,  and  wounds  of  love, 
With  intellectual  spears,  and  long  winged  arrows  of  thought. 
Mutual  in  one  another's  love  and  wrath  all  renewing 
We  live  as  One  Man;  for  contracting  our  infinite  senses 
We  behold  multitude;  or,  expanding,  we  behold  as  one, 
As  One  Man  all  the  Universal  Family;  and  that  One  Man 
We  call  Jesus  the  Christ.     And  He  in  us,  and  we  in  Him, 
Live  in  perfect  harmony  in  Eden,  the  land  of  life, 

59 


Giving,  receiving,  and  forgiving  each  others'  trespasses. 

He  is  the  Good  Shepherd,  He  is  the  Lord  and  Master; 

He  is  the  Shepherd  of  Albion,  He  is  all  in  all 

In  Eden,  in  the  garden  of  God,  and  in  heavenly  Jerusalem. 

If  we  have  offended,  forgive  us,  take  not  vengeance  against  us." 

Thus  speaking,  the  Divine  Family  follow  Albion. 

I  see  them  in  the  Vision  of  God  upon  my  pleasant  valleys. 

I  behold  London,  a  Human  awful  wonder  of  God! 

He  says:  "Return,  Albion,  return!  I  give  myself  for  thee. 

My  Streets  are  my  Ideas  of  Imagination. 

Awake,  Albion,  awake !  and  let  us  awake  up  together. 

My  Houses  are  Thoughts;  my  Inhabitants,  Affections." 

4 
[The  giant  Albion  in  his  desolation.] 

(a) 

The  Eternal  Man  sleeps  in  the  earth,  nor  feels  the  glorious  sun 

Nor  silent  moon,  nor  all  the  hosts  of  heaven  move  in  his  body. 

His  fiery  halls  are  dark,  and  round  his  limbs  the  serpent  Ore 

Fold  without  fold  encompasses  him,  and  his  corrupting  members 

Vomit  out  the  scaly  monsters  of  the  restless  deep. 

They  come  up  in  the  rivers  and  among  the  nether  parts 

Of  Man  who  lays  upon  the  shore,  leaning  his  faded  head 

Upon  the  oozy  rock  enwrapped  with  the  weeds  of  death. 

His  eyes  sink  hollow  in  his  head,  his  flesh  covered  with  slime 

And  shrunk  up  to  the  bones.    Alas !  that  Man  should  come  to  this ! 

His  strong  bones  beat  with  snows  and  hid  within  the  caves  of  night, 

Marrowless,  bloodless,  falling  into  dust,  driven  by  the  winds. 

O !  how  the  horrors  of  Eternal  Death  take  hold  on  Man. 

His  faint  groans  shake  the  caves  and  issue  through  the  desolate  rocks, 

And  the  strong  eagle  now  with  numbing  cold,  blighted  of  feathers, 

Once  like  the  pride  of  the  sun, — now  flagging  on  cold  night, 

Hovers  with  blasted  wings  aloft,  watching  with  eagle  eye 

Till  Man  shall  leave  a  corruptible  body.     He,  famished,  hears  him 

groan, 

And  now  he  fixes  his  strong  talons  in  the  pointed  rock, 
And  now  he  beats  the  heavy  air  with  his  enormous  wings. 
Beside  him  lies  the  lion  dead,  and  in  his  belly  worms 
Feast  on  his  death  till  universal  death  devours  all, 
And  the  pale  horse  seeks  for  the  pool  to  lie  him  down  and  die, 
But  finds  the  pool  filled  with  serpents  devouring  one  another. 
He  droops  his  head  and  trembling  stands,  and  his  bright  eyes  decay. 

60 


(b) 

His  Children  exil'd  from  his  breast  pass  to  and  fro  before  him; 
His  birds  are  silent  on  his  hills,  flocks  die  beneath  his  branches; 
His  Tents  are  fall'n;  his  trumpets,  and  the  sweet  sound  of  his  harp 
Are  silent  on  his  clouded  hills,  that  belch  forth  storms  and  fire ; 
His  milk  of  Cows  and  honey  of  Bees,  and  fruit  of  golden  harvest 
Is  gather'd  in  the  scorching  heat  and  in  the  driving  rain. 
Where  once  he  sat  he  weary  walks  in  misery  and  pain, 
His  Giant  beauty  and  perfection  fallen  into  dust, 
Till  from  within  his  wither'd  breast  grown  narrow  with  his  woes, 
The  corn  is  turn'd  to  thistles  and  the  apples  into  poison, 
The  birds  of  song  to  murderous  crows,  his  joys  to  bitter  groans, 
The  voices  of  children  in  his  tents  to  cries  of  helpless  infants, 
And  self-exiled  from  the  face  of  light  and  shine  of  morning 
In  the  dark  world,  a  narrow  house,  he  wanders  up  and  down, 
Seeking  for  rest  and  finding  none;  and  hidden  far  within, 
His  Eon  weeping  in  the  cold  and  desolated  Earth. 


5 
[Albion  laments  that  he  has  forsaken  Jerusalem.] 

"O  Jerusalem!     Jerusalem!     I  have  forsaken  thy  Courts, 
Thy  Pillars  of  ivory  and  gold;  thy  Curtains  of  silk  and  fine 
Linen;  thy  Pavements  of  precious  stones;  thy  Walls  of  pearl 
And  gold;  thy  Gates  of  Thanksgiving;  thy  Windows  of  Praise; 
Thy  Clouds  of  Blessing;  thy  Cherubims  of  Tender-mercy 
Stretching  their  Wings  sublime  over  the  Little  ones  of  Albion. 

0  Human  Imagination!     O  Divine  Body!     I  have  Crucified, 

1  have  turned  my  back  upon  thee  into  the  Wastes  of  Moral  Law; 
There  Babylon  is  builded  in  the  Waste,  founded  in  Human  desolation. 
O  Babylon,  thy  Watchman  stands  over  thee  in  the  night; 

Thy  severe  Judge  all  the  day  long  proves  thee,  O  Babylon, 
With  provings  of  destruction,  with  giving  thee  thy  heart's  desire. 
But  Albion  is  cast  forth  to  the  Potter,  his  Children  to  the  Builders 
To  build  Babylon,  because  they  have  forsaken  Jerusalem. 
The  Walls  of  Babylon  are  Souls  of  Men;  her  Gates  the  Groans 
Of  Nations;  her  Towers  are  the  Miseries  of  once  happy  Families; 
Her  streets  are  paved  with  Destruction,  her  Houses  built  with  Death; 
Her  Palaces  with  Hell  and  the  Grave ;  her  Synagogues  with  Torments 
Of  ever-hardening  Despair  squar'd  and  polish'd  with  cruel  skill. 
Yet  thou  wast  lovely  as  the  summer  cloud  upon  my  hills 
When  Jerusalem  was  thy  heart's  desire  in  times  of  youth  and  love. 
Thy  sons  came  to  Jerusalem  with  gifts,  she  sent  them  away 

61 


With  blessings  on  their  hands  and  on  their  feet,  blessings  of  gold 

And  pearl  and  diamond;  thy  Daughters  sang  in  her  Courts. 

They  came  up  to  Jerusalem;  they  walked  before  Albion; 

In  the  Exchanges  of  London  every  Nation  walk'd, 

And  London  walk'd  in  every  Nation  mutual  in  love  and  harmony." 


Albion  spoke :  "Who  art  thou  that  appearest  in  gloomy  pomp, 
Involving  the  Divine  Vision  in  colours  of  autumn  ripeness? 
I  never  saw  thee  till  this  time,  nor  beheld  life  abstracted, 
Nor  darkness  immingled  with  light  on  my  furrow'd  field. 
Whence  earnest  thou?  who  art  thou,  O  loveliest?  the  Divine  Vision 
Is  as  nothing  before  thee;  faded  is  all  life  and  joy!" 

Vala  replied  in  clouds  of  tears,  Albion's  garment  embracing: — 

"I  was  a  City  and  a  Temple  built  by  Albion's  Children; 

I  was  a  Garden  planted  with  beauty.     I  allured  on  hill  and  valley 

The  River  of  Life  to  flow  against  my  walls  and  among  my  trees. 

Vala  was  Albion's  Bride  and  Wife  in  great  Eternity, 

The  loveliest  of  the  daughters  of  Eternity  when  in  daybreak 

I  emanated  from  Luvah  over  the  Towers  of  Jerusalem, 

And  in  her  Courts  among  her  little  Children  offering  up 

The  Sacrifice  of  fanatic  love!  why  loved  I  Jerusalem? 

Why  was  I  one  with  her  embracing  in  the  Vision  of  Jesus? 

Wherefore  did  I  loving  create  love,  which  never  yet 

Immingled  God  and  Man,  when  thou  and  I  hid  the  Divine  Vision 

In  cloud[s]  of  secret  gloom  which,  behold,  involve  me  round  about! 

Know  me  now,  Albion;  look  upon  me.     I  alone  am  Beauty. 

The  Imaginative  Human  Form  is  but  a  breathing  of  Vala ; 

I  breathe  him  forth  into  the  Heaven  from  my  Secret  Cave, 

Born  of  the  Woman  to  obey  the  Woman,  O  Albion,  the  mighty! 

For  the  Divine  appearance  is  Brotherhood,  but  I  am  Love, 

Elevate  into  the  Region  of  Brotherhood  with  my  red  fires." 

"Art  thou  Vala?"  replied  Albion,  "image  of  my  repose. 
O  how  I  tremble !  how  my  members  pour  down  milky  fear ! 
A  dewy  garment  covers  me  all  over,  all  manhood  is  gone ! 
Is  not  that  Sun  thy  husband,  and  that  Moon  thy  glimmering  Veil? 
Are  not  the  Stars  of  heaven  thy  Children?  art  thou  not  Babylon? 
Art  thou  Nature,  Mother  of  all?  is  Jerusalem  thy  Daughter? 
In  Eternity  they  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage. 
Albion,  the  high  Cliff  of  the  Atlantic,  is  become  a  barren  Land." 

62 


7 

There  is  a  place  where  Contrarieties  are  equally  True. 
This  place  is  called  Beulah.1    It  is  a  pleasant,  lovely  Shadow 
Where  no  dispute  can  come,  because  of  those  who  Sleep. 

Beulah  is  evermore  Created  around  Eternity,  appearing 
To  the  Inhabitants  of  Eden,  around  them  on  all  sides. 
But  Beulah  to  its  Inhabitants  appears  within  each  district 
As  the  beloved  infant  in  his  mother's  bosom  round  encircled 
With  arms  of  love  and  pity  and  sweet  compassion.     But  to 
The  Sons  of  Eden  the  moony  habitations  of  Beulah 
Are  from  Great  Eternity  a  mild  and  pleasant  Rest. 

And  it  is  thus  Created:  Lo,  the  Eternal  Great  Humanity, 

To  whom  be  Glory  and  Dominion  Evermore,  Amen, 

Walks  among  all  his  awful  Family,  seen  in  every  face. 

As  the  breath  of  the  Almighty,  such  are  the  words  of  man  to  man, 

In  the  great  wars  of  Eternity,  in  fury  of  Poetic  Inspiration, 

To  build  the  Universe  stupendous,  Mental  forms  Creating. 

But  the  Emanations  trembled  exceedingly,  nor  could  they 

Live,  because  the  life  of  Man  was  too  exceeding  unbounded. 

His  joy  became  terrible  to  them,  they  trembled  and  wept, 

Crying  with  one  voice:  "Give  us  a  habitation  and  a  place 

In  which  we  may  be  hidden  under  the  shadow  of  wings; 

For  if  we  who  are  but  for  a  time,  and  who  pass  away  in  winter, 

Behold  these  wonders  of  Eternity,  we  shall  consume; 

But  you,  O  our  Fathers  and  Brothers,  remain  in  Eternity. 

But  grant  us  a  Temporal  Habitation;  do  you  speak 

To  us;  we  will  obey  your  words  as  you  obey  Jesus 

The  Eternal,  who  is  blessed  for  ever  and  ever.    Amen." 

So  spake  the  lovely  Emanations,  and  there  appeared  a  pleasant 
Mild  Shadow  above,  beneath,  and  on  all  sides  round. 

Into  this  pleasant  Shadow  all  the  weak  and  weary, 

Like  Women  and  Children,  were  taken  away  as  on  wings 

Of  dovelike  softness,  and  shadowy  habitations  prepared  for  them. 

But  every  Man  return'd  and  went,  still  going  forward  thro' 

The  Bosom  of  the  Father  in  Eternity  on  Eternity; 

Neither  did  any  lack  or  fall  into  Error  without 

A  Shadow  to  repose  in  all  the  Days  of  happy  Eternity. 

1  Blake  seems  to  mean  by  Beulah  a  realm  of  pleasant,  innocent  delusions,  the  asylum  of 
weak  and  kindly  natures,  while  stronger  intellects  grapple  with  realities. 

63 


8 

There  is  from  Great  Eternity  a  mild  and  pleasant  rest 

Named  Beulah,  a  soft,  moony  universe,  feminine,  lovely, 

Pure,  mild  and  gentle,  given  in  Mercy  to  all  those  who  sleep, 

Eternally  created  by  the  Lamb  of  God  around 

On  all  sides,  within  and  without  the  Universal  Man. 

The  Daughters  of  Beulah  follow  sleepers  in  all  their  dreams, 

Creating  spaces,  lest  they  fall  into  Eternal  Death. 


And  there  was  heard  a  great  lamenting  in  Beulah;   .    .    .   and  they 

said: — 

"Why  did  you  take  Vengeance,  O  ye  Sons  of  the  mighty  Albion? 
Planting  these  Oaken  Groves;  erecting  these  Dragon  Temples. 
Injury  the  Lord  heals,  but  Vengeance  cannot  be  healed. 
As  the  Sons  of  Albion  have  done  to  Luvah,  so  they  have  in  him 
Done  to  the  Divine  Lord  and  Saviour,  who  suffers  with  those  that 

suffer; 

For  not  one  sparrow  can  suffer,  and  the  whole  Universe  not  suffer  also 
In  all  its  Regions,  and  its  Father  and  Saviour  not  pity  and  weep. 
But  Vengeance  is  the  destroyer  of  Grace  and  Repentance  in  the  bosom 
Of  the  Injurer,  in  which  the  Divine  Lamb  is  cruelly  slain. 
Descend,  O  Lamb  of  God,  and  take  away  the  imputation  of  Sin 
By  the  Creation  of  States  and  the  deliverance  of  Individuals  Ever- 
more.    Amen." 

Thus  wept  they  in  Beulah  over  the  Four  Regions  of  Albion. 


10 

Then  Los  heaved  his  thund'ring  Bellows  on  the  Valley  of  Middlesex; 
And  thus  he  chaunted  his  Song;  the  Daughters  of  Albion  reply. 

"What  may  Man  be,  who  can  tell?    But  what  may  Woman  be, 
To  have  power  over  Man  from  Cradle  to  corruptible  Grave? 
He  who  is  an  Infant,  and  whose  Cradle  is  a  Manger, 
Knoweth  the  Infant  sorrow,  whence  it  came,  and  where  it  goeth, 
And  who  weave  it  a  Cradle  of  the  grass  that  withereth  away. 
This  World  is  all  a  Cradle  for  the  erred  wandering  Phantom. 

Entune,  Daughters  of  Albion,  your  hymning  Chorus  mildly; 
Cord  of  affection  thrilling  extatic  on  the  iron  Reel, 
To  the  golden  Loom  of  Love,  to  the  moth-labour'd  Woof, 
A  Garment  and  Cradle  weaving  for  the  infantine  Terror; 

64 


For  fear,  at  entering  the  gate  into  our  world  of  cruel 
Lamentation,  it  flee  back  and  hide  in  Non-Entity's  dark  wild. 
The  Sun  shall  be  a  Scythed  Chariot  of  Britain;  the  Moon,  a  Ship 
In  the  British  Ocean,  Created  by  Los's  Hammer;  measured  out 
Into  Days  and  Nights  and  Years  and  Months,  to  travel  with  my  feet 
Over  these  desolate  rocks  of  Albion.    O  daughters  of  despair! 
Rock  the  Cradle,  and  in  mild  melodies  tell  me  where  found, 
What  you  have  enwoven  with  so  much  tears  and  care,  so  much 
Tender  artifice,  to  laugh,  to  weep,  to  learn,  to  know; 
Remember!  recollect!  what  dark  befel  in  wintry  days." 

"O  it  was  lost  for  ever,  and  we  found  it  not;  it  came 
And  wept  at  our  wintry  Door.    Look !  look !  behold  Gwendolen 
Is  become  a  Clod  of  Clay;  Merlin  is  a  Worm  of  the  Valley!" 
Then  Los  uttered  with  Hammer  and  Anvil:  "Chaunt,  revoice ! 
I  mind  not  your  laugh,  and  your  frown  I  not  fear;  and 
You  must  my  dictate  obey  from  your  gold-beam'd  Looms ;  trill 
Gentle  to  Albion's  Watchman,  on  Albion's  mountains  re-echo, 
And  rock  the  Cradle  [the]  while.    Ah  me !  Of  that  Eternal  Man, 
And  of  the  cradl'd  Infancy  in  his  bowels  of  compassion, 
Who  fell  beneath  his  instruments  of  husbandry  and  became 
Subservient  to  the  clods  of  the  furrow,  the  cattle  and  even 
The  emmet  and  earth-worm  are  his  superiors  and  his  lords." 

Then  the  response  came  warbling  from  trilling  Looms  in  Albion: 
"We  women  tremble  at  the  light  therefore — hiding  fearful, 
The  Divine  Vision  with  Curtain  and  Veil  and  fleshly  Tabernacle." 

And  the  voices  of  Bath  and  Canterbury  and  York  and  Edinburgh  cry 
Over  the  Plow  of  Nations,  in  the  strong  hand  of  Albion  thundering 

along 

Weeping  over  his  Children  in  Stonehenge,  in  Maiden,  and  Colchester, 
Round  the  Rocky  Peak  of  Derbyshire,  London  Stone,  and  Rosamond's 

Bower: 

"What  is  a  Wife  and  what  is  a  Harlot?     What  is  a  Church?  and 

What 

Is  a  Theatre?  are  they  Two  and  not  One?  can  they  Exist  Separate? 
Are  not  Religion  and  Politics  the  Same  Thing?     Brotherhood  is 

Religion ! 
O    Demonstrations   of   Reason,    Dividing   Families    in    Cruelty   and 

Pride!" 

But  Albion  fled  from  the  Divine  Vision  with  the  Plow  of  Nations 

enflaming, 
Till  he  came  to  the  Rock  of  Ages,  and  he  took  his  Seat  upon  the  Rock. 

65 


II 

In  flaming  fire  within  the  Furnaces  the  Divine  Vision  appear'd 
On  Albion's  hills,  often  walking  from  the  Furnaces  in  clouds 
And  flames  among  the  Druid  Temples  and  the  Starry  Wheels, 
Gather'd  Jerusalem's  Children  in  his  arms  and  bore  them  like 
A  Shepherd  in  the  night  of  Albion  which  overspread  all  the  Earth. 

"I  gave  thee  liberty  and  life,  O  lovely  Jerusalem  ! 

And  thou  hast  bound  me  down  upon  the  Stems  of  Vegetation. 

I  gave  thee  Sheep-walks  upon  the  Spanish  Mountains,  Jerusalem, 

I  gave  thee  Priam's  City  and  the  Isles  of  Grecia  lovely; 

They  spread  forth  like  a  lovely  root  into  the  Garden  of  God; 

They  were  as  Adam  before  me,  united  into  one  Man. 

They  stood  in  innocence,  and  their  skiey  tent  reached  over  Asia, 

To  Nimrod's  Tower,  to  Ham  and  Canaan,  walking  with  Mizraim 

Upon  the  Egyptian  Nile,  with  solemn  songs  to  Grecia, 

And  sweet  Hesperia,  even  to  Great  Chaldea  and  Tesshina, 

Following  thee  as  a  Shepherd  by  the  Four  Rivers  of  Eden. 

Why  wilt  thou  rend  thyself  apart,  Jerusalem, 

And  build  this  Babylon  and  sacrifice  in  secret  Groves 

Among  the  Gods  of  Asia,  among  the  fountains  of  pitch  and  nitre? 

Therefore  thy  mountains  are  become  barren,  Jerusalem; 

Thy  Valleys,  Plains  of  burning  sand,  thy  Rivers,  waters  of  death. 

Thy  Villages  die  of  the  Famine,  and  thy  Cities 

Beg  bread  from  house  to  house,  lovely  Jerusalem. 

Why  wilt  thou  deface  thy  beauty  and  the  beauty  of  thy  little  ones 

To  please  thy  Idols  in  the  pretended  chastities  of  Uncircumcision? 

Thy  sons  are  lovelier  than  Egypt  or  Assyria ;  wherefore 

Dost  thou  blacken  their  beauty  by  a  secluded  place  of  rest, 

And  a  peculiar  tabernacle,  to  cut  the  integuments  of  beauty 

Into  veils  of  tears  and  sorrows,  O  lovely  Jerusalem? 

They  have  persuaded  thee  to  this,  therefore  their  end  shall  come, 

And  I  will  lead  thee  thro'  the  wilderness  in  shadow  of  my  cloud, 

And  in  my  love  I  will  lead  thee,  lovely  Shadow  of  Sleeping  Albion." 

This  is  the  Song  of  the  Lamb,  sung  by  Slaves  in  evening  time. 


12 

[The  Divine  Vision  comforts  Jerusalem  by  a  vision  of  Joseph  and  Mary."] 

But  the  Divine  Lamb  stood  beside  Jerusalem;  oft  she  saw 
The  Lineaments  Divine,  and  oft  the  Voice  heard,  and  oft  she  said: 
"O  Lord  and  Saviour,  have  the  Gods  of  the  Heathen  pierced  thee, 
Or  hast  thou  been  pierced  in  the  House  of  thy  Friends? 

66 


Art  thou  alive,  and  livest  thou  for  evermore?  or  art  thou 

Not,  but  a  delusive  shadow,  a  thought  that  liveth  not? 

Babel  mocks,  saying  there  is  no  God  nor  Son  of  God, 

That  thou,  O  Human  Imagination,  O  Divine  Body,  art  all 

A  delusion ;  but  I  know  thee,  O  Lord,  when  thou  arisest  upon 

My  weary  eyes  even  in  this  dungeon  and  this  iron  wall. 

The  Stars  of  Albion  cruel  rise ;  thou  bindest  to  sweet  influences ; 

For  thou  also  sufferest  with  me,  altho'  I  behold  thee  not; 

And  altho'  I  sin  and  blaspheme  thy  holy  name,  thou  pitiest  me, 

Because  thou  knowest  I  am  deluded  by  the  turning  mills, 

And  by  these  visions  of  pity  and  love,  because  of  Albion's  death." 

Thus  spake  Jerusalem,  and  thus  the  Divine  Voice  replied : — 

"Mild  Shade  of  Man,  pitiest  thou  these  Visions  of  terror  and  woe? 
Give  forth  thy  pity  and  love.    Fear  not !  lo,  I  am  with  thee  always. 
Only  believe  in  me,  that  I  have  power  to  raise  from  death 
Thy  Brother  who  Sleepeth  in  Albion;  fear  not,  trembling  Shade! 
Behold !  in  the  Visions  of  Elohim  Jehovah,  behold  Joseph  and  Mary, 
And  be  comforted,  O  Jerusalem,  in  the  Visions  of  Jehovah  Elohim." 

She  looked  and  saw  Joseph  the  Carpenter  in  Nazareth,  and  Mary, 
His  espoused  Wife.    And  Mary  said,  "If  thou  put  me  away  from  thee 
Dost  thou  not  murder  me  ?"  Joseph  spoke  in  anger  and  fury :  "Should  I 
Marry  a  Harlot  and  an  Adulteress?"     Mary  answer'd:  "Art  thou 

more  pure 

Than  thy  Maker,  who  forgiveth  Sins  and  calls  again  Her  that  is  Lost? 
Tho'  She  hates,  he  calls  her  again  in  love.     I  love  my  dear  Joseph, 
But  he  driveth  me  away  from  his  presence ;  yet  I  hear  the  voice  of  God 
In  the  voice  of  my  Husband — tho'  he  is  angry  for  a  moment  he  will 

not 

Utterly  cast  me  away;  if  I  were  pure,  never  could  I  taste  the  sweets 
Of  the  Forgiveness  of  Sins;  if  I  were  holy,  I  never  could  behold  the 

tears 
Of  love,  of  him  who  loves  me  in  the  midst  of  his  anger  in  furnace  of 

fire." 

"Ah,  my  Mary,"  said  Joseph,  weeping  over  and  embracing  her  closely 

in 
His  arms,  "Doth  he  forgive  Jerusalem  and  not  exact  Purity  from 

her  who  is 

Polluted?    I  heard  his  voice  in  my  sleep  and  his  Angel  in  my  dream, 
Saying:  'Doth  Jehovah  Forgive  a  Debt  only  on  condition  that  it  shall 
Be  payed?    Doth  he  Forgive  Pollution  only  on  conditions  of  Purity? 
That  Debt  is  not  Forgiven !    That  Pollution  is  not  Forgiven ! 
Such  is  the  Forgiveness  of  the  Gods,  the  Moral  Virtues  of  the 
Heathen,  whose  tender  Mercies  are  Cruelty;  but  Jehovah's  Salvation 

67 


Is  without  Money  and  without  Price,  in  the  Continual  Forgiveness 

of  Sins, 

In  the  Perpetual  Mutual  Sacrifice  in  Great  Eternity.    For  behold ! 
There  is  none  that  liveth  and  Sinneth  not !    And  this  is  the  Covenant 
Of  Jehovah:  'If  you  forgive  one  another,  so  shall  Jehovah  forgive 

You; 

That  He  Himself  may  Dwell  among  You.    Fear  not,  then,  to  take 
To  thee  Mary  thy  Wife,  for  she  is  with  Child  by  the  Holy  Ghost.'  " 

Then  Mary  burst  forth  into  a  Song !  she  flowed  like  a  River  of 
Many  Streams  in  the  arms  of  Joseph,  and  gave  forth  her  tears  of  joy 
Like  many  waters.  .    .    .  And  I  heard  the  voice  among 
The  Reapers  Saying:  "Am  I  Jerusalem,  the  lost  Adulteress?  or  am  I 
Babylon  come  up  to  Jerusalem?"    And  another  voice  answer'd  saying: 
"Does  the  voice  of  my  Lord  call  me  again?  am  I  pure  thro'  his  Mercy 
And  Pity?    Am  I  become  lovely  as  a  Virgin  in  his  sight,  who  am 
Indeed  a  Harlot  drunken  with  the  Sacrifice  of  Idols?    Does  he 
Call  her  pure,  as  he  did  in  the  days  of  her  Infancy,  when  She 
Was  cast  out  to  the  loathing  of  her  person?    The  Chaldean  took 
Me  from  my  Cradle ;  the  Amalekite  stole  me  away  upon  his  Camels 
Before  I  had  ever  beheld  with  love  the  Face  of  Jehovah,  or  known 
That  there  was  a  God  of  Mercy.    O  Mercy,  O  Divine  Humanity ! 

0  Forgiveness  and  Pity  and  Compassion!     If  I  were  Pure  I  should 

never 

Have  known  Thee.    If  I  were  Unpolluted  I  should  never  have 
Glorified  thy  Holiness  or  rejoiced  in  thy  great  Salvation." 

Mary  leaned  her  side  against  Jerusalem.     Jerusalem  received 

The  Infant  into  her  hands  in  the  Visions  of  Jehovah.    Times  passed 

on; 

Jerusalem  fainted  over  the  Cross  and  Sepulcher.    She  heard  the  voice: 
"Every  Harlot  was  once  a  Virgin,  every  Criminal  an  Infant  Love. 
Repose  on  me  till  the  morning  of  the  Grave;  I  am  thy  life." 

Jerusalem  replied: — "I  am  an  outcast;  Albion  is  dead; 

1  am  left  to  the  trampling  foot  and  the  spurning  heel. 
A  Harlot  I  am  call'd.     I  am  sold  from  street  to  street; 

I  am  defaced  with  blows  and  with  the  dirt  of  the  Prison; 
And  wilt  thou  become  my  Husband,  O  my  Lord  and  Saviour? 
But  I  thy  Magdalen  behold  thy  Spiritual  Risen  Body. 
Shall  Albion  arise?    I  know  he  shall  arise  at  the  Last  Day! 
I  know  that  in  my  flesh  I  shall  see  God;  but  Emanations 
Are  weak,  they  know  not  whence  they  are,  nor  whither  tend." 

68 


Jesus  replied: — "I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life; 
I  die,  and  pass  the  limits  of  possibility,  as  it  appears.  .    .    .    ; 
But  will  prepare  a  way  for  my  banished  ones  to  return. 
Come  now  with  me  into  the  villages,  walk  thro'  all  the  cities. 
Tho'  thou  art  taken  to  prison  and  judgment,  starved  in  the  streets, 
I  will  command  the  cloud  to  give  thee  food  and  the  hard  rock 
To  flow  with  milk  and  wine ;  tho'  thou  seest  me  not  a  season, 
Even  a  long  season,  and  a  hard  journey  and  a  howling  wilderness, 
Only  believe  and  trust  in  me.    Lo,  I  am  always  with  thee!" 

So  spoke  the  Lamb  of  God,  while  Luvah's  Cloud  reddening  above 
Burst  forth  in  streams  of  blood  upon  the  heavens,  and  dark  night 
Involv'd  Jerusalem,  and  the  Wheels  of  Albion's  Sons  turn'd  hoarse 
Over  the  Mountains,  and  the  fires  blaz'd  on  Druid  Altars,1 
And  the  Sun  set  in  Tyburn's  Brook  where  Victims  howl  and  cry. 


13 
[England  shrinks  and  withers  under  Albion's  mistaken  ideals. ~\ 

As  their  eye  and  ear  shrunk,  the  heavens  shrunk  away, 

The  Divine  Vision  became  first  a  burning  flame,  then  a  column 

Of  fire,  then  an  awful  fiery  wheel  surrounding  earth  and  heaven; 

And  then  a  globe  of  blood  wandering  distant  in  an  unknown  night. 

Afar  into  the  unknown  night  the  mountains  fled  away; 

Six  months  of  mortality,  a  summer;  and  six  months  of  mortality,  a 

winter. 

They  look  forth;  the  Sun  is  shrunk,  the  Heavens  are  shrunk 
Away  into  the  far  remote,  and  the  Trees  and  Mountains  wither'd 
Into  indefinite  cloudy  shadows  in  darkness  and  separation. 

They  look  forth  from  Stone-henge;  from  the  Cove  round  London 

Stone 

They  look  on  one  another;  the  mountain  calls  out  to  the  mountain; 
Plinlimmon  shrunk  away;  Snowdon  trembled;  the  mountains 
Of  Wales  and  Scotland  beheld  the  descending  War;  the  routed  flying. 
Red  run  the  streams  of  Albion;  Thames  is  drunk  with  blood; 
The  inhabitants  are  sick  to  death;  they  labour  to  divide  into  Days 
And  Nights  the  uncertain  Periods,  and  into  Weeks  and  Months.     In 

vain 
They  send  the  Dove  and  Raven;  and  in  vain  the  Serpent  over  the 

mountains; 
And  in  vain  the  Eagle  and  Lion  over  the  fourfold  wilderness. 

1  False  conventions  and  religions. 

69 


They  return  not,  but  generate  in  rocky  places  desolate; 
They  return  not;  but  build  a  habitation  separate  from  Man. 
The  Sun  forgets  his  course;  like  a  drunken  man  he  hesitates, 
Upon  the  Cheselden  hills,  thinking  to  sleep  on  the  Severn; 
In  vain;  he  is  hurried  afar  into  an  unknown  Night, 
He  bleeds  in  torrents  of  blood,  as  he  rolls  thro'  heaven  above 
He  chokes  up  the  paths  of  the  sky;  the  Moon  is  leprous  as  snow; 
Trembling  and  descending  down,  seeking  to  rest  upon  high  Mona  ; 
Scattering  her  leprous  snows  in  flakes  of  disease  over  Albion. 
The  Stars  flee  remote;  the  heaven  is  iron,  the  earth  is  sulphur, 
And  all  the  mountains  and  hills  shrink  up  like  a  withering  gourd, 
As  the  Senses  of  Men  shrink  together  under  the  Knife  of  flint, 
In  the  hands  of  Albion's  Daughters,  among  the  Druid  Temples. 


Naked  Jerusalem  lay  before  the  Gates  upon  Mount  Zion, 
The  Hill  of  Giants,  all  her  foundations  levell'd  with  the  dust  ; 
And  thus  her  voice  went  forth  in  the  darkness  of  Philisthea  :  — 

"My  brother  and  my  father  are  no  more  !    God  hath  forsaken  me  ! 
The  arrows  of  the  Almighty  pour  upon  me  and  my  children. 
I  have  sinned  and  am  an  outcaste  from  the  Divine  Presence  ! 

My  tents  are  f  all'n  !  my  pillars  are  in  ruins  !  my  children  dash'd 

Upon  Egypt's1  iron  floors  and  the  marble  pavements  of  Assyria. 

I  melt  my  soul  in  reasonings  among  the  towers  of  Heshbon. 

Mount  Zion  is  become  a  cruel  rock,  and  no  more  dew 

Nor  rain;  no  more  the  spring  of  the  rock  appears;  but  cold, 

Hard,  and  obdurate  are  the  furrows  of  the  mountain  of  wine  and  oil. 

The  mountain  of  blessing  is  itself  a  curse  and  an  astonishment. 

The  hills  of  Judea  are  fallen  with  me  into  the  deepest  hell, 

Away  from  the  Nations  of  the  Earth,  and  from  the  Cities  of  the 

Nations. 

I  walk  to  Ephraim,  I  seek  for  Shiloh;  I  walk  like  a  lost  sheep 
Among  precipices  of  despair;  in  Goshen  I  seek  for  light 
In  vain,  and  in  Gilead  for  a  physician  and  a  comforter. 
They  are  become  narrow  places  in  a  little  and  dark  land; 
How  distant  far  from  Albion!  his  hills  and  his  valleys  no  more 
Receive  the  feet  of  Jerusalem;  they  have  cast  me  quite  away; 
And  Albion  is  himself  shrunk  to  a  narrow  rock  in  the  midst  of  the  sea. 
The  plains  of  Sussex  and  Surrey,  their  hills  of  flocks  and  herds 

1  It  is  impossible  to  say  how  far  Blake  meant  geographical  names  to  be  symbolic,  how  far 
literal.  As  much  as  possible,  we  prefer  to  take  them  literally.  Thus  in  this  passage  we  should 
conceive  of  the  Spirit  of  Liberty  (Jerusalem)  surveying  the  nations  in  a  vast,  Miltonic  pano- 
rama, and  lamenting  the  universal  presence  of  religious,  scholastic,  and  social  tyranny. 

70 


No  more  seek  to  Jerusalem  nor  to  the  sound  of  my  Holy-ones. 
The  Fifty-two  Counties  of  England  are  harden'd  against  me 
As  if  I  was  not  their  Mother;  they  despise  me  and  cast  me  out. 
London  cover'd  the  whole  Earth,  England  encompass'd  the  Nations, 
And  all  the  Nations  of  the  Earth  were  seen  in  the  Cities  of  Albion. 
My  pillars  reach'd  from  sea  to  sea;  London  beheld  me  come 
From  my  east  and  from  my  west;  he  blessed  me  and  gave 
His  children  to  my  breasts,  his  sons  and  daughters  to  my  knees; 
His  aged  parents  sought  me  out  in  every  city  and  village. 
They  discern'd  my  countenance  with  joy;  they  shew'd  me  to  their  sons, 
Saying,  'Lo,  Jerusalem  is  here !  she  sitteth  in  our  secret  chambers.' 
The  river  Severn  stay'd  his  course  at  my  command; 
Thames  poured  his  waters  into  my  basons  and  baths; 
Albion  gave  me  to  the  whole  Earth  to  walk  up  and  down,  to  pour 
Joy  upon  every  mountain,  to  teach  songs  to  the  shepherd  and  plowman. 
I  taught  the  ships  of  the  sea  to  sing  the  songs  of  Zion; 
Italy  saw  me,  in  sublime  astonishment;  France  was  wholly  mine, 
As  my  garden  and  as  my  secret  bath.    Spain  was  my  heavenly  couch; 
I  slept  in  his  golden  hills;  the  Lamb  of  God  met  me  there. 
There  we  walked  as  in  our  secret  chamber  among  our  little  ones; 
They  looked  upon  our  loves  with  joy;  they  beheld  our  secret  joys 
With  holy  raptures  of  adoration  rap'd  sublime  in  the  Visions  of  God. 
Germany,  Poland,  and  the  North  wooed  my  footsteps;  they  found 
My  gates  in  all  their  mountains,  and  my  curtains  in  all  their  vales; 
The  furniture  of  their  houses  was  the  furniture  of  my  chamber. 
Turkey  and  Grecia  saw  my  instr'ments  of  music,  they  arose, 
They  seiz'd  the  harp,  the  flute,  the  mellow  horn  of  Jerusalem's  joy; 
They  sounded  thanksgivings  in  my  courts;  Egypt  and  Lybia  heard; 
The  swarthy  sons  of  Ethiopia  stood  round  the  Lamb  of  God 
Enquiring  for  Jerusalem ;  he  led  them  up  my  steps  to  my  altar. 
And  thou,  America !  I  once  beheld  thee,  but  now  behold  no  more 
Thy  golden  mountains,  where  my  Cherubim  and  Seraphim  rejoic'd 
Together  among  my  little  ones.    But  now  my  Altars  run  with  blood, 
My  fires  are  corrupt,  my  incense  is  a  cloudy  pestilence 
Of  seven  diseases !     Once  a  continual  cloud  of  salvation  rose 
From  all  my  myriads;  once  the  Four-fold  World  rejoic'd  among 
The  pillars  of  Jerusalem,  between  my  winged  Cherubim; 
But  now  I  am  clos'd  out  from  them  in  the  narrow  passages 
Of  the  valleys  of  destruction,  into  a  dark  land  of  pitch  and  bitumen, 
From  Albion's  Tomb  afar,  and  from  the  four-fold  wonders  of  God." 


15 

While  Los  arose  upon  his  Watch,  and  down  from  Golgonooza, 
Putting  on  his  golden  sandals  to  walk  from  mountain  to  mountain, 

71 


He  takes  his  way,  girding  himself  with  gold,  and  in  his  hand 
Holding  his  iron  mace.    The  Spectre  remains  attentive. 
Alternate  they  watch  in  night;  alternate  labour  in  day 
Before  the  Furnaces  labouring,  while  Los  all  night  watches 
The  stars  rising  and  setting,  and  the  meteors  and  terrors  of  night. 
With  him  went  down  the  Dogs  of  Leutha1  at  his  feet; 
They  lap  the  water  of  the  trembling  Thames,  then  follow  swift, 
And  thus  he  heard  the  voice  of  Albion's  daughters  on  Euphrates : — 

"Our  Father  Albion's  land;  O  it  was  a  lovely  land!  and  the  Daughters 

of  Beulah 
Walked  up  and  down  in  its  green  mountains,  .    .    .  and  the  Brook  of 

Albion's  River. 

We  builded  Jerusalem  as  a  City  and  a  Temple ;  from  Lambeth 
We  began  our  Foundations,  lovely  Lambeth.     O  lovely  Hills 
Of  Camberwell,  we  shall  behold  you  no  more  in  glory  and  pride, 
For  Jerusalem  lies  in  ruins,  and  the  Furnaces  of  Los  are  builded  there; 
You  are  now  shrunk  up  to  a  narrow  Rock  in  the  midst  of  the  Sea." 

And  thus  Los  replies  upon  his  Watch;  the  Valleys  listen  silent, 
The  Stars  stand  still  to  hear,  Jerusalem  and  Vala  cease  to  mourn. 
His  voice  is  heard  from  Albion;  the  Alps  and  Appenines 
Listen!  Hermon  and  Lebanon  bow  their  crowned  heads; 
Babel  and  Shinar  look  toward  the  Western  Gate,  they  sit  down 
Silent  at  his  voice;  they  view  the  red  Globe  of  fire  in  Los's  hand 
As  he  walks  from  Furnace  to  Furnace,  directing  the  Labourers ; 
And  this  is  the  Song  of  Los,  the  Song  that  he  sings  on  his  Watch: — 

"O  lovely  mild  Jerusalem !  O  Shiloh  of  Mount  Ephraim ! 

I  see  thy  Gates  of  precious  stones,  thy  Walls  of  gold  and  silver. 

Thou  art  the  soft  reflected  Image  of  the  Sleeping  Man 

Who,  stretch'd  on  Albion's  rocks,  reposes  amidst  his  Twenty-eight 

Cities,  where  Beulah  lovely  terminates  in  the  hills  and  valleys  of 

Albion. 

Why  wilt  thou  rend  thyself  apart  and  build  an  Earthly  Kingdom 
To  reign  in  pride  and  to  oppress,  and  to  mix  the  Cup  of  Delusion? 

0  thou  that  dwellest  with  Babylon !  Come  forth,  O  lovely-one. 

1  see  thy  Form,  O  lovely,  mild  Jerusalem  !    Wing'd  with  Six  Wings 
In  the  opacous  Bosom  of  the  Sleeper,  lovely,  Three-fold 

In  Head  and  Heart  and  Reins,  three  Universes  of  love  and  beauty. 
Thy  forehead  bright;  Holiness  to  the  Lord,  with  Gates  of  pearl, 
Reflects  Eternity  beneath  thy  azure  wings  of  feathery  down, 
Ribb'd,  delicate,  and  cloth'd  with  feather'd  gold  and  azure  and  purple, 

1  Leutha  =  sensuous,  self-indulgent  pleasure. 

72 


From  thy  white  shoulders  shadowing  purity  in  holiness. 
Thence,  feather'd  with  soft  crimson  of  the  ruby,  bright  as  fire, 
Spreading  into  the  azure  wings  which  like  a  canopy 
Bends  over  thy  immortal  Head  in  which  Eternity  dwells. 
Albion,  beloved  Land,  I  see  thy  mountains  and  thy  hills 
And  valleys,  and  thy  pleasant  Cities,  Holiness  to  the  Lord. 

Thy  Bosom  white,  translucent,  cover'd  with  immortal  gems, 
A  sublime  ornament  not  obscuring  the  outlines  of  beauty, 
Terrible  to  behold,  for  thy  extreme  beauty  and  perfection. 
I  see  the  New  Jerusalem  descending  out  of  Heaven 
Between  thy  Wings  of  gold  and  silver,  feather'd  immortal, 
Clear  as  the  rainbow,  as  the  cloud  of  the  Sun's  tabernacle. 

Thy  Reins  cover'd  with  Wings  translucent,  sometimes  covering 
And  sometimes  spread  abroad  reveal  the  flames  of  holiness 
Which  like  a  robe  covers,  and  like  a  Veil  of  Seraphim 
In  flaming  fire  unceasing  burns  from  Eternity  to  Eternity. 
There  Bells  of  silver  round  thy  knees,  living,  articulate 
Comforting  sounds  of  love  and  harmony;  and  on  thy  feet 
Sandals  of  gold  and  pearl;  and  Egypt  and  Assyria  before  me, 
The  Isles  of  Javan,  Philistea,  Tyre,  and  Lebanon." 

Thus  Los  sings  upon  his  Watch,  walking  from  Furnace  to  Furnace. 

He  seizes  his  Hammer;  every  hour  flames  surround  him  as 

He  beats;  seas  roll  beneath  his  feet,  tempests  muster 

Around  his  head,  the  thick  hail  stones  stand  ready  to  obey 

His  voice  in  the  black  cloud;  his  Sons  labour  in  thunders 

At  his  Furnaces;  his  Daughters  at  their  Looms  sing  woes. 

16 

[This  extract  and  the  two  following  give  pictures  of  the  intellectual 
apocalypse  described  by  Blake  at  the  end  of  each  of  his  three  longest 
poems.] 

The  sun  has  left  his  blackness  and  has  found  a  fresher  morning, 

And  the  mild  moon  rejoices  in  the  clear  and  cloudless  night; 

And  Man  walks  forth  from  midst  of  fires;  the  evil  is  all  consumed. 

His  eyes  behold  the  angelic  spheres  among  the  night  and  day; 

The  stars  consumed,  like  a  lamp  blown  out,  and  in  their  stead,  behold ! 

One  earth — one  sea  beneath;  nor  erring  globes  wander,  but  stars 

Of  fire  rise  up  nightly  from  the  ocean;  and  one  sun 

Each  morning,  like  a  new-born  Man,  issues  with  songs  of  joy, 

Calling  the  ploughman  to  his  labour,  the  shepherd  to  his  rest. 

He  walks  upon  the  eternal  mountains,  raising  his  heavenly  voice, 

73 


Conversing  with  the  animal  forms  of  wisdom  night  and  day, 
That,  risen  from  the  sea  of  fire,  renewed  walk  over  the  earth; 
For  Tharmas  brought  his  flocks  upon  the  hills,  and  in  the  vales 
Around  the  Eternal  Man's  bright  tent  the  little  children  play 
Among  the  woolly  flocks.    The  hammer  of  Urthona  sounds 
In  the  deep  caves  beneath,  his  limbs  renewed;  his  lions  roar 
Around  the  furnaces,  and  in  evening  sport  upon  the  plains. 
They  raise  their  faces  from  the  earth,  conversing  with  the  Man: 

"How  is  it  we  have  walked  through  fire  and  yet  are  not  consumed? 
How  is  it  that  all  things  are  changed,  even  as  in  ancient  times? 
The  sun  arises  from  his  dewy  bed,  and  the  fresh  airs 
Play  in  his  smiling  beams,  giving  the  seeds  of  life  to  grow, 
And  the  fresh  earth  beams  forth  ten  thousand  thousand  springs  of 
life." 


Then  as  a  Moony  Ark  Ololon  descended  to  Felpham's  Vale 
Into  the  Fires  of  Intellect  that  rejoic'd  in  Felpham's  Vale 
Around  the  Starry  Eight.    With  one  accord  the  Starry  Eight  became 
One  Man,  Jesus,  the  Saviour  wonderful;  round  his  limbs 
The  Clouds  of  Ololon  folded  as  a  Garment  dipped  in  blood, 
Written  within  and  without  in  woven  letters;  and  the  Writing 
Is  the  Divine  Revelation  in  the  Literal  expression, 
A  Garment  of  War.     I  heard  it  named  the  Woof  of  Six  Thousand 
Years. 

And  I  beheld  the  Twenty-four  Cities  of  Albion 

Arise  upon  their  Thrones  to  Judge  the  Nations  of  the  Earth, 

And  the  Immortal  Four,  in  whom  the  Twenty-four  appear  Four-fold, 

Arose  around  Albion's  body.     Jesus  wept,  and  walked  forth 

From  Felpham's  Vale,  clothed  in  Clouds  of  blood,  to  enter  into 

Albion's  Bosom,  the  bosom  of  death,  and  the  Four  surrounded  him 

In  the  Column  of  Fire  in  Felpham's  Vale  ;  then  to  their  mouths  the 

Four 
Applied  their  Four  Trumpets,  and  then  sounded  to  the  Four  winds. 

Terror  struck  in  the  Vale.     I  stood  at  that  immortal  sound; 

My  bones  trembled,  I  fell  outstretch'd  upon  the  path 

A  moment,  and  my  Soul  return'd  into  its  mortal  state, 

And  my  sweet  Shadow  of  Delight  stood  trembling  by  my  side. 

Immediately  the  Lark  mounted  with  a  loud  trill  from  Felpham's  Vale, 
And  the  Wild  Thyme  from  Wimbleton's  green  and  unpurpled  Hills, 
And  Los  and  Enitharmon  rose  over  the  Hills  of  Surrey. 
Their  clouds  roll  over  London  with  a  south  wind,  soft  Oothoon 

74 


Pants  in  the  Vales  of  Lambeth,  weeping  o'er  her  Human  Harvest; 
Los  listens  to  the  Cry  of  the  Poor  Man,  his  Cloud 
Over  London  in  volume  terrific,  low  bended  in  anger. 

[The]  Wine-presses  and  Barns  stand  open;  the  Ovens  are  prepar'd, 
The  Waggons  ready;  terrific  Lions  and  Tigers  sport  and  play; 
All  Animals  upon  the  Earth  are  prepar'd  in  all  their  strength 
To  go  forth  to  the  Great  Harvest  and  Vintage  of  the  Nations. 


18 

Albion  cold  lays  on  his  Rock;  storms  and  snows  beat  round  him, 
Beneath  the  Furnaces  and  the  starry  Wheels  and  the  Immortal  Tomb ; 
Howling  winds  cover  him;  roaring  seas  dash  furious  against  him; 
In  the  deep  darkness  broad  lightnings  glare,  long  thunders  roll. 

The  weeds  of  Death  enwrap  his  hands  and  feet,  blown  incessant, 
And  wash'd  incessant  by  the   for-ever   restless   sea-waves   foaming 

abroad 

Upon  the  white  Rock.    England  a  Female  Shadow,  as  deadly  damps 
Of  the  Mines  of  Cornwall  and  Derbyshire  lays  upon  his  bosom  heavy, 
Moved  by  the  wind  in  volumes  of  thick  cloud  returning,  folding  round 
His  loins  and  bosom  unremovable  by  swelling  storms  and  loud  rending 
Of  enraged  thunders.    Around  them  the  Starry  Wheels  of  their  Giant 

Sons 
Revolve,  and  over  them  the  Furnaces  of  Los  and  the  Immortal  Tomb, 

around, 

Erin  sitting  in  the  Tomb,  to  watch  them  unceasing  night  and  day; 
And  the  Body  of  Albion  was  closed  apart  from  all  Nations. 

Over  them  the  famish'd  Eagle  screams  on  bony  Wings,  and  around 
Them  howls  the  Wolf  of  famine;  deep  heaves  the  Ocean,  black, 

thundering 
Around  the  wormy  Garments  of  Albion,  then  pausing  in  deathlike 

silence. 

Time  was  Finished!    The  Breath  Divine  Breathed  over  Albion, 
Beneath  the  Furnaces  and  starry  Wheels  and  in  the  Immortal  Tomb, 
And  England,  who  is  Brittannia,   awoke  from  Death  on  Albion's 
bosom. 

"O  piteous  Sleep!  O  piteous  Dream!  O  God!  O  God!  awake!  I  have 

slain 
In  Dreams  of  Chastity  and  Moral  Law,  I  have  Murdered  Albion. 

Ah! 
O  all  ye  Nations  of  the  Earth,  behold  ye  the  Jealous  Wife." 

75 


Her  voice  pierc'd  Albion's  clay  cold  ear,  he  moved  upon  the  Rock. 
The  Breath  Divine  went  forth  upon  the  morning  hills.    Albion  mov'd 
Upon  the  Rock,  he  open'd  his  eyelids  in  pain;  in  pain  he  mov'd 
His  stony  members ;  he  saw  England.    Ah,  shall  the  Dead  live  again ! 

The  Breath  Divine  went  forth  over  the  morning  hills.  Albion  rose 
In  anger,  the  wrath  of  God  breaking  bright,  flaming  on  all  sides 

around 

His  awful  limbs;  into  the  Heavens  he  walked,  clothed  in  flames, 
Loud  thund'ring,  with  broad  flashes  of  flaming  lightning  and  pillars 
Of  fire,  speaking  the  Words  of  Eternity  in  Human  Forms,  in  direful 
Revolutions  of  Action  and  Passion,  thro'  the  Four  Elements  on  all 

sides, 

Surrounding  his  awful  Members.    Thou  seest  the  Sun  in  heavy  clouds 
Struggling  to  rise  above  the  Mountains;  in  his  burning  hand 
He  takes  his  Bow,  then  chooses  out  his  arrows  of  flaming  gold; 
Murmuring  the  Bowstring  breathes  with  ardour;  clouds  roll  round  the 
Horns  of  the  wide  Bow;  loud  sounding  winds  sport  on  the  mountain 

brows, 

Compelling  Urizen  to  his  Furrow,  and  Tharmas  to  his  Sheepfold, 
And  Luvah  to  his  Loom.  Urthona  he  beheld,  mighty,  labouring  at 
His  Anvil,  in  the  Great  Spectre  Los  unwearied,  labouring  and 

weeping; 

Therefore  the  Sons  of  Eden  praise  Urthona's  Spectre1  in  songs, 
Because  he  kept  the  Divine  Vision  in  time  of  trouble. 

As  the  Sun  and  Moon  lead  forward  the  Visions  of  Heaven  and  Earth, 
England,  who  is  Brittannia,  enter'd  Albion's  bosom  rejoicing, 
Rejoicing  in  his  indignation,  adoring  his  wrathful  rebuke. 
She  who  adores  not  your  frowns  will  only  loathe  your  smiles. 

As  the  Sun  and  Moon  lead  forward  the  Visions  of  Heaven  and  Earth, 
England,  who  is  Brittannia,  entered  Albion's  bosom  rejoicing. 
Then  Jesus  appeared  standing  by  Albion  as  the  Good  Shepherd 
By  the  lost  Sheep  that  he  hath  found;  and  Albion  knew  that  it 
Was  the  Lord,  the  Universal  Humanity,  and  Albion  saw  his  Form, 
A  Man,  and  they  conversed  as  Man  with  Man  in  Ages  of  Eternity; 
And  the  Divine  Appearance  was  the  likeness  and  similitude  of  Los. 

Albion  said:  UO  Lord,  what  can  I  do?    my  Selfhood  cruel 

Marches  against  thee  deceitful  from  Sinai  and  from  Edom 

Into  the  Wilderness  of  Judah  to  meet  thee  in  his  pride. 

I  behold  the  Visions  of  my  deadly  Sleep  of  Six  Thousand  Years, 

Dazzling  around  thy  skirts  like  a  Serpent  of  precious  stones  and  gold; 

I  know  it  is  my  Self,  O  my  Divine  Creator  and  Redeemer." 

1  i.e.  Los. 


Jesus  replied:  "Fear  not,  Albion;  unless  I  die  thou  canst  not  live, 

But  if  I  die  I  shall  arise  again  and  thou  with  me; 

This  is  Friendship  and  Brotherhood,  without  it  Man  Is  Not." 

So  Jesus  spoke ;  the  Covering  Cherub  coming  on  in  darkness 
Overshadow'd  them,  and  Jesus  said:  "Thus  do  Men  in  Eternity, 
One  for  another  to  put  off  by  forgiveness  every  sin." 

Albion  reply'd:  "Cannot  Man  exist  without  Mysterious 

Offering  of  Self  for  Another?  is  this  Friendship  and  Brotherhood? 

1  see  thee  in  the  likeness  and  similitude  of  Los  my  Friend." 

Jesus  said:  "Wouldest  thou  love  one  who  never  died 
For  thee,  or  ever  die  for  one  who  had  not  died  for  thee? 
And  if  God  dieth  not  for  Man  and  giveth  not  himself 
Eternally  for  Man,  Man  could  not  exist,  for  Man  is  Love, 
As  God  is  Love ;  every  kindness  to  another  is  a  little  Death 
In  the  Divine  Image,  nor  can  Man  exist  but  by  Brotherhood." 

So  saying,  the  Cloud  overshadowing  divided  them  asunder. 
Albion  stood  in  terror,  not  for  himself  but  for  his  Friend 
Divine,  and  Self  was  lost  in  the  contemplation  of  faith 
And  wonder  at  the  Divine  Mercy  and  at  Los's  sublime  honour. 

"Do  I  sleep  amidst  danger  to  Friends?    O  my  Cities  and  Counties, 
Do  you  sleep?  rouse  up,  rouse  up,  Eternal  Death  is  abroad!" 

So  Albion  spoke,  and  threw  himself  into  the  Furnaces  of  affliction. 
All  was  a  Vision,  all  a  Dream;  the  Furnaces  became 
Fountains  of  Living  Waters  flowing  from  the  Humanity  Divine; 
And  all  the  Cities  of  Albion  rose  from  their  Slumbers,  and  All 
The  Sons  and  Daughters  of  Albion  on  soft  clouds  Waking  from  Sleep. 
Soon  all  around  remote  the  Heavens  burnt  with  flaming  fires; 
And  Urizen  and  Luvah,  and  Tharmas  and  Urthona  arose  into 
Albion's  Bosom.    Then  Albion  stood  before  Jesus  in  the  Clouds 
Of  Heaven  Fourfold  among  the  Visions  of  God  in  Eternity. 

"Awake,  Awake,  Jerusalem !  O  lovely  Emanation  of  Albion, 
Awake  and  overspread  all  Nations  as  in  Ancient  Time; 
For  lo !  the  Night  of  Death  is  past,  and  the  Eternal  Day 
Appears  upon  our  Hills.    Awake,  Jerusalem,  and  come  away!" 

So  spake  the  Vision  of  Albion,  and  in  him  so  spake  in  my  hearing 
The  Universal  Father.    Then  Albion  stretch'd  his  hand  into  Infinitude, 
And  took  his  Bow  Fourfold;  the  Vision  for  bright  beaming  Urizen 
Laid  his  hand  on  the  South,  and  took  a  breathing  Bow  of  Carved 
Gold. 

77 


Luvah,  his  hand  stretch'd  to  the  East,  and  bore  a  Silver  Bow  bright 

shining; 

Tharmas  Westward  a  Bow  of  Brass  pure  flaming,  richly  wrought, 
Urthona  Northward  in  thick  storms,  a  Bow  of  Iron  terrible  thunder- 
ing. 

And  the  Bow  is  a  Male  and  Female,  and  the  Quiver  of  the  Arrows 

of  Love 
Are  the  Children  of  his  Bow,  a  Bow  of  Mercy  and  Loving-kindness, 

laying 
Open  the  hidden  Heart  in  Wars  of  mutual  Benevolence,  Wars  of 

Love; 
And  the  Hand  of  Man  grasps  firm  between  the  Male  and  Female 

Loves, 

And  he  Clothed  himself  in  Bow  and  Arrows,  in  awful  state  Fourfold; 
In  the  midst  of  his  Twenty-eight  Cities,  each  with  his  Bow  breathing. 
Then  each  an  Arrow  flaming  from  his  Quiver  fitted  carefully; 
They  drew  fourfold  the  unreprovable  String,  bending  thro'  the  wide 

Heavens 
The  horned  Bow  Fourfold;  loud  sounding  flew  the  flaming  Arrow 

fourfold. 

Murmuring  the  Bow-string  breathes  with  ardour.     Clouds  roll  round 

the  horns 
Of  the  wide  Bow;  loud  sounding  Winds  sport  on  the  Mountain's 

brows ; 
The  Druid  Spectre1  was  Annihilate,  loud  thund'ring,  rejoicing,  terrific, 

vanishing, 

Fourfold  Annihilation,  and  at  the  clangor  of  the  Arrows  of  Intellect 
The  innumerable  Chariots  of  the  Almighty  appear'd  in  Heaven. 

And  they  conversed  together  in  Visionary  forms,  dramatic,  which 

bright 

Redounded  from  their  Tongues  in  thunderous  majesty,  in  Visions, 
In  new  Expanses,  creating  exemplars  of  Memory  and  of  Intellect, 
Creating  Space,  Creating  Time  according  to  the  wonders  Divine 
Of  Human  Imagination,  throughout  all  the  Three  Regions  immense 
Of  Childhood,   Manhood,   and  Old  Age;   and  the   all  tremendous 

unfathomable  Nonens 
Of  Death  was  seen  in  regeneration  terrific  or  complacent.  .   .   .  And 

they  walked 
To  and  fro  in  Eternity,  as  One  Man  reflecting  each  in  each  and 

clearly  seen 

1  The  Druids  and  Druid  Spectre  probably  symbolize  false  religions  in  general,  made  strong 
by  long  tradition. 

78 


And  seeing,  according  to  fitness  and  order.     And  I  heard  Jehovah 

speak 
Terrific  from  his  Holy  Place,  and  saw  the  Words  of  the  Mutual 

Covenant  Divine 
On  Chariots  of  gold  and  jewels,  with  Living  Creatures  starry  and 

flaming, 
With  every  Colour,  Lion,  Tiger,  Horse,  Elephant,  Eagle,  Dove,  Fly, 

Worm, 
And   the   all   wondrous   Serpent   clothed   in   gems   and   rich   array, 

Humanize 
In  the  Forgiveness  of  Sins  according  to  Thy  Covenant,  Jehovah. 

They  Cry: — 

"Where  is  the  Covenant  of  Priam,  the  Moral  Virtues  of  the  Heathen? 
Where  is  the  Tree  of  Good  and  Evil  that  rooted  beneath  the  cruel  heel 
Of  Albion's  Spectre  the  Patriarch  Druid?  where  are  all  his  Human 

Sacrifices, 
For  Sin  in  War  and  in  the  Druid  Temples  of  the  Accuser  of  Sin, 

beneath 
The  Oak  Groves  of  Albion  that  cover'd  the  whole  Earth  beneath  his 

Spectre? 
Where  are  the  Kingdoms  of  the  World  and  all  their  glory  that  grew 

on  Desolation?" 

Such  is  the  Cry  from  all  the  Earth,  from  the  Living  Creatures  of  the 

Earth, 

And  from  the  great  City  of  Golgonooza  in  the  Shadowy  Generation, 
And  from  the  Thirty-two  Nations  of  the  Earth  among  the  Living 

Creatures. 

All  Human  Forms  identified,  even  Tree,  Metal,  Earth,  and  Stone ;  all 
Human  Forms  identified,  living,  going  forth  and  returning  wearied 
Into  the  Planetary  lives  of  Years,  Months,  Days,  and  Hours;  reposing, 
And  then  awaking  into  His  Bosom  in  the  Life  of  Immortality. 

And  I  heard  the  Name  of  their  Emanations;  they  are  named  Jeru- 
salem. 

THE  END 


79 


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